HP & The Chamber of Secrets (Version 2-0: Promoting Safe Sex)
by Insert amusing pseudonym here
Summary: Harry Potter protests against the dangers STDs threaten society with and struggles to overcome his own unhealthy addictions. Ginny gets multiple amputations. Harry/Multi Hermione/More than Harry (reminder: this is rated M, but should be NC-17, so expect an abundance of inappropriate scenes)
1. The Worst Birthday: or was it?

Not for the first time, a heated argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew Harry's room.

"Eightieth time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't control your hormones, that owl will have to go!"

Harry tried, yet again, to explain.

"She's _bored_," he said. "She's used to fucking around at Hogwarts. She looked so-so in need. If you could just let me use the bathroom a _bit_ longer to wank, just a _bit_ longer, better yet, if I could just let her out at night-"

"Do I _look_ stupid?" garbled Uncle Vernon, a bit of 'fried egg' dangling from his bushy mustache. His left eye was twitching. Harry thought it was because of his rage. Petunia knew better. His left eye twitched whenever he was having a stiffy. She blushed. "I know what'll happen if that owl's let out, or your sperm. Last time we let you wank in there, the plumber was here for five hours. Honestly, boy, how much have you got in there?"

He exchanged dark looks with his wife Petunia, which quickly turned to looks of lust. She was wearing a blood red corset, a matching thong, and fishnet tights. Being woken up early made Petunia a bit dazed. Her hand-eye coordination was exceptionally bad.

Harry tried to defend his civil rights to wank but his words were drowned by a long, loud moan from the Dursleys' son, Dudley.

"I want more cunt." He threw down another exhausted, unconscious, completely drained blonde woman on the kitchen table. He then proceeded to wipe his mouth, and his dick.

"There's more waiting outside, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia, turning misty eyes on her massive son. "We must fulfill your hormones while we've got the chance...I don't like the sound of those school girls... They don't seem very open to new sexual explorations..."

"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when _I_ was at Smeltings," said Uncle Vernon wistfully. Petunia turned slightly jealous. She walked over casually and sat in Vernon's lap with perfect nonchalance, flaunting her womanly curves. "Dudley gets enough, d-don't you, son?" He gulped.

Dudley who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned lazily and turned to Harry, his mouth dripping with...uh...

"Call one of them in- no, three, actually. The more, the merrier."

"You've forgotten your condoms," said Harry irritably. He was jealous that not only was Dudley allowed to wank, he was also allowed a crowd of girls at his disposal, courtesy of Vernon's mob connections. However, Harry was disgusted at the number of girls Dudley managed to knock up, and probably transmitted a few STDs to.

The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley shrieked and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole universe, displacing galaxies and unraveling the very fabric of the space-time continuum; Mrs. Dursley gave a high-pitched squeal and clapped her hands to her cheeks in a very exaggerated manner, as though in a silent movie; Mr. Dursley jumped to his feet, veins throbbing very visibly in his temples.

"One should always practice safe sex," said Harry, holding a finger up wisely. "The first step on becoming a responsible-"

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered his uncle, spraying spit (or was it?) over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'C' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"

"I'm surprised really, at the rate you two have been going at it, why you haven't produced more accidents like Dudley? You know what they say, cover it with a bag, or deal with a baby and a nag. Do you have some kind of sperm defect, Vernon? Hmm," Harry mused. "I propose a theory that Dudley's father is actua-"

"HOW DARE YOU QUESTION THE LEGITIMACY OF MY DUDLEY!" roared Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.

"Actually, I didn't _question_ his _legitimacy_, per se, -"

"I WARNED YOU-!"

"You know, there _are_ some countries-"

"I WILL NOT TOLERATE YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"

Harry stood up in defiance, his face turning positively crimson, staring his purple-faced uncle in the eye. His gaze flickered to his pale aunt, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet. She broke her back trying. He looked back at Vernon.

"A PASSIONATE PROTEST AND DESIRE AIMED TO KEEP THIS SOCIETY SAFE FROM THE DANGERS OF SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED DISEASES AND TO KEEP OUR ECONOMY BALANCED AND INTACT BY SLOWLY BUT SURELY CLEANSING HOSPITALS OF SAID DISEASED PERSONS DEMANDING MEDICAID TO RELIEVE THEMSELVES OF THEIR MEDICAL OPPRESSIONS IS _NOT_ AN ABNORMALITY!" shouted Harry passionately. He defiantly held up a large cardboard sign that he decorated with some half-chewed crayons he found in the corner of his bedroom. It read: "Don't be a fool, wrap your tool! Cover your stump before you hump!" Below it was directions on how to 'wrap it in plastic before you smack it.'

Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded Orcinus orca and watching Harry closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes. Meanwhile, Petunia was being taken away by an ambulance. Dudley was quietly sneaking his 'dessert' upstairs, trying not to be noticed by the police.

Ever since Harry had come home for the summer holidays, Uncle Vernon had been treating him like a penis that might erect at any moment, because Harry Potter wasn't a normal boy. As a matter of fact, he was as not normal as it is possible to be.

Harry Potter was a wizard - a wizard fresh from his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have him back for the holidays, it was nothing to how Harry felt.

He missed Hogwarts so much it was like being forced to withdraw from weed. He missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, his classes (though perhaps not Snape, the Potions master), the mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in his four-poster bed in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid in his 'cabin' next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, the love and support his friends provided for him, the joy Ron and Hermione gave him every waking morning, the thankfulness he had to have been blessed with such caring, trustworthy, and loyal friends, and, especially, Quidditch, the most popular nightclub in the whole of the wizarding world (six sensational and magically enhanced strip poles, four flying balls that squirted out whatever the person facing it wanted depending on whether they were a witch or a wizard, and fourteen players on broomsticks).

All Harry's porn mags, his wand, condoms, _cauldron_, and top-of-the-line Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the instant Harry had come home. What did the Dursleys care if Harry lost his place as the star of Quidditch : The Nightclub That Turns A Wizard Into...An Even Manlier Wizard because he hadn't practiced all summer? What was is to the Dursleys if Harry went back to school without any of his homework done? The Dursleys were what wizards called Muggles (not a drop of magical blood in their veins), and as far as they were concerned, having a wizard in the family was a terrible disgrace. Seriously, if they thought about it, if Harry was found out, this whole thing would just end like E.T. - Harry doesn't know how to Apparate. The Dursleys would be heroes to the scientific advancement of Great Britain.

Uncle Vernon had even padlocked Harry's owl, Hedwig, inside her cage, to stop her from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world. Though secretly Uncle Vernon came in the night to owl Professor Snape, for some reason a favorite among all homosexuals. That was Vernon's guilty secret.

Harry looked nothing like the rest of the family. Uncle Vernon was large and neckless, with an enormous black mustache; Aunt Petunia was ass-faced and bony; Dudley was blond, pink, and porky. Sometimes Harry wondered what Dudley would taste like, since he was so much like a pig. _It wouldn't _really _be cannibalism,_ reasoned Harry.

Harry, on the other hand, was unbelievably sexy, with brilliant green eyes and jet-black hair that was always untidy. He wore round glasses, and on his forehead was a thin, lightning-shaped scar. It was this scar that made Harry so particularly unusual, even for a wizard. _This_ scar- oh, _this_ scar, was shaped like a deformed penis. It was a scar like no other.

At the age of one year old, Harry had somehow survived a curse from the greatest, kinkiest porn star of all time, Lord Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still feared to speak. After humiliation at a pole strip that deformed his penis forever, Voldemort began to use his powers for the worse. Harry's parents had died in Voldemort's assault, but Harry had escaped with his scar, and somehow - nobody understood why - Voldemort's powers had been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill Harry.

So Harry had been brought up by his dead mother's sister and her husband. He had spent ten years with the Dursleys, never understanding why he kept making odd things happen without meaning to, believing the Dursleys' story that he had got his scar in the car crash that had killed his parents because he was a completely idiotic bimbo.

And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Harry and the whole story had come out. Harry had taken up his place at wizard school, where he and his scar were famous... but now the school year was over. Harry smiled. Little did everyone know, Harry wanted to become an astronaut. He wanted to be the first man on Mars. He had already planned out what his inspirational words would be - "If you can't shield your rocket, leave it in your pocket!" When he retired, he planned to settle down with the love of his life in a quiet neighborhood, only venturing out for his biweekly protests to outlaw sex without condoms unless one was married and had a negative STD testing at a trusted medical institution.

The Dursleys hadn't remembered that today happened to be Harry's twelfth birthday. Of course, his hopes hadn't been high; they'd never givem him a real present, let alone a cake - but to ignore it completely... Harry began to tear up.

At that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said, "Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."

Harry looked up, hardly daring to believe it.

"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career," said Uncle Vernon.

Harry went back to his toast. _Of course_, he thought bitterly, _Uncle Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party_.

A devil Harry and an angel Harry popped up on his shoulders like they do in the Muggle movies. The angel Harry said, "Harry, it was your fault for daring to believe it in the first place. Vernon works hard to bring you food to keep you alive over the summer, and to give you a place to sleep."

The devil Harry said, "Harry, Vernon is an evil little fucker. Birthdays should always be remembered. You know you want to do this. Run him through with that kitchen knife, after Crucio-ing him, and then jump on him with a pogo stick and then Avada Kedavra him."

Harry said, "Where do I find a pogo stick?"

The devil Harry said, "How the hell am I supposed to know? You're a bloody wizard!"

Harry was too lazy to conjure up a pogo stick. His hallucinations ceased. "I need to lay off the LSD," Harry said to himself.

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said Uncle Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. "Petunia, you will be-?"

A cardboard cutout of Petunia was propped up. "In the lounge," said Vernon promptly, in a feminine voice impersonating Petunia, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home." Vernon was going delirious from all the economic stress going on. Harry noted that, if people just had safe sex, this wouldn't be happening.

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr. and, uh, unfortunately _Mrs_. Mason?"

"They'll _love_ him!" cried 'Aunt Petunia' rapturously.

"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry. "And you?"

"I'll be offering condoms in the corner, in case things get out of hand," said Harry tonelessly. Vernon grew so angry steam blew out of his ears, literally. "Uncle Vernon, I'm sure this is a side effect to some STD that was transmitted to you in your sexual endeavors with Auntie Petunia. You should've used a condom." Vernon tried to beat him up, but Harry's Taekwondo skills were just too much for him.

Uncle Vernon continued nastily, "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight fifteen -"

"I'll announce dinner," said 'Aunt Petunia.'

"And Dudley, you'll say -"

"May I take you to my bedroom, Mrs. Mason? It's quite well stocked with kinky sex toys" said Dudley, offering his fat 'arm' to an invisible woman.

"If you're going to slip between her thighs, be sure to condomize," reminded Harry with the wisdom of a thousand years.

"And you?" said Uncle Vernon viciously to Harry.

"I'll be in my room, pretending I don't exist," said Harry dully.

"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?" Vernon turned to Petunia. Now that no one was looking, Harry smirked dramatically. All other conversation ceased to be heard.

"I said that I'd be in my room, pretending that I didn't exist. With a few condoms and sneaking in one of Dudley's girls, we can role play as mass-murderers, planning the death of the Dursleys. Who said child neglect couldn't be fun?" Harry spoke dramatically to himself.

"And you, boy?" Vernon broke Harry out of his soliloquy.

Harry fought to keep his face from revealing his plans.

"I'll be in my room, pretending I'm not there," he said.

"Too right you will," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the News at 'll be shopping for a holiday home in Majorca this time tomorrow."

Harry couldn't feel too excited about this. He thought Majorca was overrated. _Personally_, Harry thought, _Australia is a much better vacation home. _

"Right-I'm off into town to pick up the dinner 'suits' for Dudley and me. And you," he snarled at Harry. "You stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning." He slammed the door on the way out. The cardboard cut-out fell down.

Harry left through the back door, feeling lonely. He crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench and sang under his breath, "Happy birthday to me ... happy birthday to me ..." He was slowly becoming insane and delusional. Actually, it wasn't even his birthday. He'd been using an outdated calendar.

What wouldn't he give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? He'd almost be glad to hang out with Voldemort. He sure knew how to party.

Not that his whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of last term, Harry had walked in on Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick going at it. It had disturbed his mind ever since.

Harry suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. He had been staring absent-mindedly into the hedge - and the hedge was staring back. He shrieked. The eyes seemed to follow him wherever he tried to move. The shrubbery spoke to him. It spoke to him, deep in his mind, probing into the deepest corners of his mind. Harry broke down and was in hysterics just as a jeering voice floated across the lawn.

"I know what day it is," sang Dudley, waddling toward him like a penguin.

"What?" said Harry.

"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to him.  
"Just fucking tell me what _bloody_ day it is!"

"You say it's your birthday," sang Dudley. "It's my birthday too yeah. They say it's your birthday. We're gonna have a good time. I'm glad it's your birthday-"

"What the hell, Dudley?" Harry said. "It isn't your bleeding birthday? It's MY birthday, OK? MINE, MINE, MINE!"

Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat bottom. He stumbled backward.

"Jiggery pokery!" said Harry in a fierce voice. "Hocus pocus- squiggly wiggly-"

Dudley whipped out a wand, pointing it at Harry. "Yeah, that's right, Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived," he spat. "I'm a wizard too."

Harry blinked. Turns out it was just the LSD getting to him. Dudley had already run away.

It was half past seven in the evening when at last, exhausted, he heard Aunt Petunia calling him. She had run away from the hospital.

"Get in here!"

Harry ran into the house.

"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped Aunt Petunia, pointing to a bowl of rotten egg yolk and a lump of shit on the kitchen table.

Harry washed his hands and ate his dinner. He thanked Petunia sincerely and gratefully for the meal. The moment he had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away his plate. "Upstairs! Hurry!"

As he passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. On Dudley's stomach, 'sexy' was painted in red. 'Beast' was painted in red on Vernon's stomach. Harry couldn't agree more.

Harry crossed to his bedroom on tiptoe, pranced inside (James would've been proud), closed the door, and turned to perfect his plan.

The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.


	2. Dobbquisha's Warning

**Chapter Two: Dobbquisha's Warning**

Harry managed not to shout out, but it was a close thing. The sexy minx spread out on the bed had large, bat-seducing ears and bulging green eyes the size of Harry's balls. Harry knew instantly that this was what had been watching him out of the garden hedge that morning. It was love at first sight.

As they gazed into each other's eyes, Harry heard Dudley's voice from the hall.

"May I take your clothes, Mr. and, uh, unfortunately, _Mrs_. Mason?"

The creature slipped slowly off the bed and crawled over towards Harry seductively. She was so close to him that the tip of her long, thin nose touched his crotch. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm-, leg-, breast- and vagina-holes.

"Er — hey there, sexy," whispered Harry nervously, desperately trying to fix his hair.

"Harry Potter!" said the creature in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobbquisha wanted to fuck you, sir . . . Such an honor it is. . . ." She licked him.

"Th-thank you," whispered Harry, edging along the wall and sinking into his desk chair, next to Hedwig, who was eyeing Dobbquisha jealously in her large cage. He tried to hide his erection. He wanted to ask dreamily, "Are you an angel sent from heaven?" but thought it would sound too obvious, so instead he said, "Who are you?"

"Dobbquisha, sir. Just Dobbquisha. Dobbquisha the sex-slave/elf," said the creature.

"Oh — really?" said Harry. "Er — I don't want to be rude or anything, but — this isn't a great time for me to have such a sexy female elf in my bedroom." He remembered the plan to kill the Dursleys.

Aunt Petunia's high-pitched moan sounded from the living room. The elf hung her head.

"Not that I'm not looking forward to fuck you," said Harry quickly, "but, er, is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," growled Dobbquisha seductively. "Dobbquisha has come to tell you, sir . . . it is difficult, sir . . . Dobbquisha wonders where to begin. . . ." She smirked, crawling over to stroke his crotch with a perfectly manicured finger nail.

"Sit down," gulped Harry, pointing at himself.

To his horror, the elf burst into tears — very noisy tears.  
"_S-sit down_!" she wailed. "_Never . . . never ever _. . ."  
Harry thought he heard the moans and shuffles downstairs falter.  
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything- I thought you wanted to fuck-"  
"Offend Dobbquisha!" choked the elf. "Dobbquisha's advances have _never _been responded to so eagerly-"  
Harry, trying to say "Shh!" and look sexy at the same time, ushered Dobquisha onto his bed. He lowered himself onto her, ripping off her pillowcase. He tore off his own clothes and caressed her lovingly while she weeped in gratitude. At last he managed to control himself, and took a condom from his side table. "Safe sex is always the way to go," he said. She sat with her great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery adoration.

"You can't have met many decent wizards," said Harry while he expertly put on the high-quality, magically-enhanced condom.

Dobbquisha shook her head, reaching for her pillowcase to cover herself up. Then, without warning, he leapt up and started banging her furiously against the window, shouting, "_Bad _Dobbquisha! _Bad _Dobbquisha!" They fucked for about twenty minutes before she wiggled her way out from underneath Harry. She hopped off the bed and was about to leave.

"Don't — what are you doing?" Harry hissed, springing up and pulling Dobbquisha back onto the bed — Hedwig had woken up with a particularly loud screech and was beating her wings wildly against the bars of her cage, begging for Harry's attention.

"Dobbquisha had to leave, sir," said the elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobbquisha almost had an orgasm, sir. . . ."

"An orgasm? What's wrong with that? And it seriously took you that long to come? All the students and staff I've fucked at Hogwarts always come like 40 seconds in when they're with me."

"The wizard family Dobbquisha serves, sir. . . . Dobbquisha is a sex-slave/elf — bound to come to one house and one family forever. . . ."

"Do they know you're here?" asked Harry in a curious tone. He honestly couldn't care less about her issues. He wasn't looking for a long-term relationship; he just wanted to fuck her right then and right there, being the horny twelve-year-old he was.

Dobbquisha shuddered, cuddling Harry. Personally, he was disgusted by her lovey-dovey actions, but he didn't want to delay the sensual part of their relationship any more by arguing with her.

"Oh, no, sir, no . . . Dobbquisha will have to punish herself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobbquisha will have to whip herself, sir. If they ever knew, sir —"

"But won't they notice if you whip yourself?"

"Dobbquisha doubts it, sir. Dobbquisha is always having to punish herself for something, sir. They lets Dobbquisha get on with it, sir. Sometimes they help me do extra punishments for their own kinky amusements. . . ."

"But why don't you leave? Escape?"

"A sex-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobbquisha free . . . Dobbquisha will serve the family until she dies of sexual exhaustion, sir. . . ." She sniffled.

Harry stared. He was sort of turned off by her moppy attitude. He began having second thoughts about getting it on with her. _After all_, he reflected, _her pussy is sort of worn out._

"And I thought I had it bad staying here watching Dudley get all the girls for another four weeks," he said. "This makes the Dursleys sound almost desirable. Can't anyone help you? Can't I?"

Almost at once, Harry wished he hadn't spoken. He didn't want to dig himself into his own grave, aka a long-term relationship with Dobbquisha the hoe. Dobbquisha dissolved again into wails of gratitude.

"Please," Harry whispered frantically, "please disregard what I just said. And, be _quiet_, bitch. If the Dursleys hear anything, if they know you're here —"

"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobbquisha . . . Dobbquisha has heard of your sexy ways, sir, but of your romantic ways, Dobbquisha never knew. . . ." She shifted position, giving Harry a better view of her breasts. Harry, who was suddenly feeling distinctly hot in the crotch, said, "Whatever you've heard about my sexiness is a load of rubbish. I'm not even the best fucker at Hogwarts; that's Hermione, she's unbelieveable, she's done me a lot, in many different ways, too—"

But he stopped quickly, because thinking about Hermione was making him want to force himself into any living thing. Also, it might lower his chances of Dobbquisha doing her best sex work due to her mind being preoccupied with jealousy.

"Harry Potter is the most sexy thing I have ever seen, no matter what he says. Even sexier than Channing Tatum," said Dobbquisha reverently, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named —"

"Voldemort?" said Harry.

Dobbquisha clapped her hands over her ears and moaned, "Ah, speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name! It brings back terrible memories of my elf friends boasting to me about how good he was, but I never got to try him!"

"Sorry," said Harry quickly. "I know lots of people don't like it. My friend Ron gets so jealous, he—"

He stopped again. Thinking about Ron was painful, too. In a sentimental way, of course. Actually, not even that. He never really liked Ron. Ron was just a awkward ginger that tagged along for the ride, and all he did was drag Harry down in popularity.  
Dobbquisha rubbed against Harry, her eyes wide as headlights. "Dobbquisha heard tell," she said huskily, "that Harry Potter met the Dick Lord for a second time, just weeks ago . . . that Harry Potter escaped _yet again _from his dangerous seductiveness_._"

Harry nodded and Dobbquisha's eyes suddenly shone with tears before he could try to explain that he was not bisexual. But he had doubts about that.  
"Ah, sir," she gasped, dabbing her face with his dick. "Harry Potter is so sexy! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobbquisha has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, to fuck him, even if she _does _have to whip herself later. . . . _Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts._"

There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle Vernon's voice. "W-what?" Harry stammered. "But I've got to go back — term starts on September first. It's all that's keeping me going. You don't know what it's like here. I don't _belong _here. If it wasn't because of Hogwarts, I would've skipped this town a long time ago. I had plans for when I turned eleven. I would've moved to Australia and studied to become an astronaut. Hagrid complicated things a bit, so I had to sell my tickets on eBay. I made a lousy profit. If only the economy was as great as having sex with Hermione is. But, anyways, I belong in your world — at Hogwarts."

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobbquisha, shaking her head against his dick. It accidentally slipped into her mouth. They had oral for a few minutes. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose his clean slate. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" said Harry in surprise, upset that she stopped sucking his dick.

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make the most terrible STD's come to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobbquisha, suddenly trembling all over. She stood up and mounted him. She couldn't wait any longer and talked as she fucked him. "Dobbquisha has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"Which terrible STD's?" moaned Harry at once. "Who's bringing them? I can fight them off with my trusty condoms!"

Dobbquisha made a funny choking noise and then banged him frantically against the bed. The mattress squeaked.

"All right!" spat Harry, violently pressing into her more. "You can't tell me. I understand. But why are you warning _me_, Harry Potter, safe sex promoter?" A sudden, unpleasant thought struck him. "Hang on — this hasn't got anything to do with Vol — sorry — with You-Know-Who, has it? You could just squeeze my dick ten times for no or bite my earlobe for yes," he added hastily as Dobbquisha's head tilted worryingly close to the wall again.

Slowly, Dobbquisha squeezed his dick ten times.  
"Not — not _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, _sir —"  
But Dobbquisha's eyes were wide and she seemed to be trying to give Harry a hint. It didn't really have anything to do with what they were talking about. She was trying to get him to ask her out. She has brain damage and forgets things sometimes. Harry was completely lost.  
"Voldemort hasn't got a brother, has he?"  
Dobbquisha shook his head, her eyes wider than ever. _That was a random question_, she thought. _He must be stalling._  
"Well then, I can't think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I mean, there's Dumbledore, for one thing — you know who Dumbledore is, don't you?"

Dobbquisha suddenly realized what he was talking about and bowed her head.

"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest sexmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobbquisha knows it, sir. Dobbquisha has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his irrestibleness. But, sir" — Dobbquisha's voice dropped to an seductive whisper — "there are powers Dumbledore doesn't . . . powers no decent wizard . . ."

And before Harry could stop her, Dobbquisha took him out of her, seized Harry's dick, and started beating herself around the head with earsplitting yelps. He slapped her, yelling, "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, you little bitch? Let me back in!"

A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later Harry, heart thudding madly, heard Uncle Vernon coming into the hall, calling, "Dudley must have left his television on again, the horny bastard!"

"Quick! In the closet!" hissed Harry, stuffing Dobbquisha in, shutting the door, and flinging himself onto the bed just as the door handle turned. He posed himself like one of the French ladies.

"What — the — _devil _— are — you — doing?" said Uncle Vernon through gritted teeth, his face dangerously close to Harry's. "You've just ruined the devil-summoning seance we were performing. . . . One more sound of you fucking whatever it is you were fucking and you'll wish you'd never been born, boy!"

He stomped flat-footed from the room.  
Shaking, Dobbquisha came out of the closet.  
"See what it's like here?" he said. "See why I've got to go back to Hogwarts? It's the only place I've got — well, I _think _I've got friends."

"Friends who don't even _sowl_ Harry Potter?" said Dobbquisha slyly. "A combination of sex and owl," explained Dobbquisha to the readers. "Like sexting."

"I expect they've just been busy f— wait a minute," said Harry, frowning, a hand ready to strike. "How do _you _know my friends haven't been sowling me?"

Dobbquisha pushed her breasts towards him in an effort to avoid more abuse.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobbquisha. Dobbquisha was jealous—"

"_Have you been stopping my sowls!_?"

"Dobbquisha has them here, sir," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry's reach, she pulled a thick wad of pink and red envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase she was wearing previously before Harry took it off her. Harry could make out Hermione's fancy writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, and even a scribble that looked as though it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid. Dobbquisha also took out a stack of porn magazines, a new broomstick, a twelve-pack case of special mineral water, a package of deep-cleansing soap, and a new laptop case.

Dobbquisha blinked anxiously up at Harry.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry. . . . Dobbquisha hoped . . . if Harry Potter thought his friends, his subscriptions, and Amazon had forgotten him . . . Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir. . . ."

Harry wasn't listening. He made a grab for the items, but Dobbquisha jumped out of reach.

"Harry Potter will have his letters, magazines, and purchases, sir, if he gives Dobbquisha his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No," said Harry angrily. "Give me that shit, woman!"  
"Then Harry Potter leaves Dobbquisha no choice," said the elf viciously. She threw sharpened knives at his head, but she had terrible aim. Before Harry could move, Dobbquisha had darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs.

"Stupid hoe!" he yelled. Harry sprang after her, trying not to make a sound. He jumped the last six steps, landing catlike on the hall carpet, looking around for Dobbquisha. From the dining room he heard Uncle Vernon whispering huskily, ". . . tell Petunia that very mouth-watering story about those American plumbers, Mrs. Mason. She's been _dying_ to hear . . ."

Harry ran up the hall into the kitchen and felt his stomach disappear. "Where are you, stomach?" he said, laughing at his own lame joke. He may have been sexy, but he was a dork. Hermione, on the other hand, had more charm, which made fucking her so amazing. He decided to focus on the pressing matters at hand.

Aunt Petunia's failure of a pudding, the mountain of unhealthy inorganic materials, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a cupboard in the corner laid Dobbquisha snootily.

"No," ordered Harry. "Get down from there immediately, you worthless hoe. Get down here and feel my wrath."

"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school —"

"Dobbquisha, if you let that fall, they'll _kill_ me, and my penis will no longer be here to satisfy your needs. . ." he tried to reason.

"Say it, boi —"

"Fine, I love you, Dobbquisha. Will you go out with me?" He cringed at the grave he was digging himself into.  
Dobbquisha gave him a conflicted look. After a good ten minutes of thinking, she said, "Yes! Of course I will!" She forgot about the pudding, and it fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. Harry stared at the magnificent site before getting ready to strike Dobbquisha. "I never liked you anyway, you sick whore! I hope you die!" With a crack like a whip, Dobbquisha vanished fearfully.

There were protests about Vernon leaving from the dining room and Uncle Vernon burst into the kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock, covered from head to foot in Aunt Petunia's 'pudding'. "Do you know how much I was looking forward to eating that? Do you know how long your mother had to wank to get the consistency just right?!"

At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to gloss the whole thing over. ("Just our jobless friend, you know this economy— he's very horny — seeing strangers turns him on, so we kept him upstairs to preoccupy him with some mushrooms to imagine him some girls. . . .") He shooed the naked Masons back into the dining room, promised Harry he would send Petunia to fuck him later and torture him by leaving right before he was about to come. He told him to lick the floor and appreciate the time and effort Petunia went to putting it all together. Aunt Petunia dug some shit out of the freezer as a substitute and Harry, still shaking, started licking the kitchen clean. It was awful.

Uncle Vernon might still have been able to make his deal — if it hadn't been for the owl.

Aunt Petunia was just passing around a box of after-sex birth-control pills when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a letter, shitted on Mrs. Mason's head, and swooped out again. Mrs. Mason screamed like a banshee having sex with a sloth and ran from the house shouting about lunatics. Mr. Mason stayed just long enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes from that one incident at Disneyland, and to ask whether this was their idea of a joke.

Harry stood in the kitchen, clutching a chair for support, as Uncle Vernon advanced on him, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes. (The seance was successful. The demonic glint was just the beginning.) "Read it!" he hissed evilly, brandishing the letter the owl had delivered. "Go on — read it!"  
Harry took it. It did not contain birthday greetings to his disappointment. He was ready to throw it out when Vernon threatened to spoon his eyes out.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that you had sexual intercourse with an elf your place of residence this evening for a collective hour starting at twelve minutes past eight.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to practice with elves outside school, as it can lead to strange STD's that no Muggle has seen, and if left uncured, can devour you from the inside painfully within days. Further sex on your part may lead to expulsion from Hogwarts (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of How Far Underaged Sex Should Go, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity, especially magical sex, that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

_Improper Use of Dicks_

_Ministry of Magic_

_P.S. Since it seems you're open to just about anything, do you mind meeting me in the Hogwarts Express water closet? I'll give you ten galleons for every quarter hour you do me. Just send me an owl, ok, babe? _

Harry looked up from the letter and gulped.

"You didn't tell us you were seeing someone," said Uncle Vernon, another demonic gleam dancing in his eyes. "Forgot to mention it. . . . Slipped your mind, I daresay. . . ."

He was bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared. "Well, I've got news for you, boy. . . . I'm locking you up. . . . You're never going back to that school . . . never . . . and if you try and magic yourself out — they'll expel you!"

And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry back upstairs. Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning, he paid a homeless man he found on the street to fit bars on Harry's window. He himself fitted a cat-flap in the bedroom door, so that Petunia could torture him through there. They gave Harry a bucket to piss and shit in, and they gave him astronaut food. He was locked in his room around the clock.

Three days later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting, and Harry made a plan. "I can do my best to seduce Petunia when she comes at midnight to torture me. Usually I just get in there and she does the work, but this time, I'll make her feel like she's never been fucked before. Right before _she's_ about to come, I stop and tell her the price is to let me free." But unfortunately Vernon, with that demonic glint in his eyes, abused her an hour before her regular sessions with Harry. She couldn't go over to torture him, so that plan was a no-go. He lay on his bed watching the sun sinking behind the bars on the window and was inspired. He found a composition notebook and a piece of charcoal and began composing music that rivaled Mozart. He called it, "Sun Sinking Behind The Bars On My Window". After filling up the notebook, he sat dejectedly in his wank corner, disheartened. He needed to get out.

What was the good of magicking himself out of his room if Hogwarts would expel him for doing it? Yet life at Privet Drive had reached an all-time low. Now that the Dursleys knew they weren't going to wake up as brown-headed nuthatches, he had lost his only weapon.

Dobbquisha might have saved Harry from horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but the way things were going, he'd probably starve to death anyway. He was nearly out of astronaut food, all he had left was those horrid ice cream sandwiches.

The cat-flap rattled and a woman's hand appeared, pushing a condom into the room. Harry, whose was aching with lust, jumped off his bed and seized it. He put it on, and looked through the cat-flap to find one of Dudley's girls. "Hey," she said. "I got Dudley drunk last night, and he poured out his heart to me. He told me how jealous he was of you because you were so much hotter than him and so much better at sex. I wanted to see if he wasn't just saying that. I'll pay you with this bowl of soup I made." She handed him the bowl. He took a sip and criticized her cooking skills. Then he crossed the room to Hedwig's cage and tipped that shit into the bottom of the bowl into her empty food tray. She ruffled her feathers and gave him a look of deep disgust. She was upset with him that he could think he could make it up to her with soup.

"What's your name?" Harry asked the woman.

"Whatever you want it to be," she purred.

"I don't appreciate your attitude, lady. I think I'll just take the soup and you can scram."

He heard weeping from the other side of the door.

He put the empty bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap and lay back down on the bed, even hungrier than he had been before. He realized he made a big mistake refusing the woman.

Supposing he was still alive in another four weeks, what would happen if he didn't turn up at Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why he hadn't come back? Would they be able to make the Dursleys let him go? He wanted to live life before he lost it, and rejecting the woman gave him a sad drunk feeling.

The room was growing dark. It enveloped him with darkness. It strangled him, invaded his mind, made him question himself. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind spinning over the same unanswerable questions, Harry fell into an uneasy sleep.

He dreamed that he was in a glass case in a strip club, with a card reading sex offender attached to his cage. People teased him through the glass as he lay, starving and lustful, on a bed of nails. He saw Dobbquisha's face in the crowd and shouted out, asking for help, but Dobbquisha called, "Harry Potter played with my feelings, sir!" and vanished. Then the Dursleys appeared and Dudley the Pimp brought along his girls, laughing at him.

"Stop it," Harry muttered as the laughing pounded in his sore head. "Leave me alone . . . cut it out . . . I'm trying to die. . . ."

He opened his eyes. Moonlight was shining through the bars on the window. And someone _was _goggling through the bars at him: a freckle-faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.

Ron Weasley was outside Harry's window, looking at him. Albeit, a little lustfully, but he was there.


	3. The Burrow

**Chapter Three**

R_on_!" yelled Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. "Ron, how did you — What the bloody fuck— ?"

Harry's mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an beautiful red Porsche, which was parked _in midair. _Smirking at Harry from the front seats were Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers.

"All right, Harry?" asked George.

"What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been answering my sowls?" Fred and George sniggered. "I meant letters! I've asked you to come over for about twelve groups bangs, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for doing magic and having sex with an elf in the presence of Muggles —"

"Um— how did he know?"

"He works for the Ministry, retard," said Ron condescendingly. Harry snorted. Ron _was being the condescending one?_, he thought condescendingly. "You _know _we're not supposed to do elves outside school or spells too—"

"You shouldn't talk," said Harry, staring at floating car and the naked elf on Ron's lap.

"Oh, these don't count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing this car. It's Dad's, _we _didn't enchant it. He lives on the edge, being involved with the mob and all. The elf's letting me do oral on her, and they only count regular and anal because oral has some gray areas. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with —"

"I didn't — all I did was the fuck the elf- but it'll take too long to explain now — look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me come back, and obviously I can't magic myself out, because the Ministry'll think that's the second spell I've done in three days, so... And what do you mean gray areas? Oral sex is sex. What- do they think since all you're doing is licking her it's just as if you accidentally licked her hand? I could argue that my dick just accidentally penetrated her and I couldn't get it out—"

"Stop gibbering like the idiotic retard you are, dirty whore," said Ron. "We've come to take you."

"But you can't magic me out either —"

"We don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. "You forget who I've got with me. I guess I expected this of you. You're such a stupid bimbo."

"Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a chain of paper clips to Harry.

"If the Dursleys wake up, Vernon will kill me. He's possessed by Satan," explained Harry as he tied the chain tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.

"Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back."

Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was in her getting closer to proper owl sex and kept still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the paper clip chain broke apart. "Fuck," Fred said. "How did that not work?"

"Maybe because-" Harry started.

"Shut your cock-sucking mouth, you little cunt," Ron said.

Fred took out his wand and the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred did his magic. An owl with a letter came flying towards him but he brought out his AK-47 and shot that little fucker down. "Sh," he said. Harry ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. It was a shame to see such good potential stripping equipment go to waste. Alas! Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry cheered and popped open a few bottles to celebrate the three R's- reuse, recycle, and reduce! Suddenly, he stopped and listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys' bedroom. It was odd in normal circumstances, but now that Vernon was possessed, he and Petunia didn't stay up fucking anymore. Harry was thankful that Satan had possessed his uncle.

When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed as close as possible to Harry's window.

"Get in, loser, we're going shopping," Ron said in a nasal, feminine voice.

"But all my Hogwarts stuff — my wand — my broomstick — my mags —"

"Where is it, you old geezer?"

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this room —"

"No problem," said George from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, Harry."

Fred and George climbed sexily through the window into Harry's room. You had to hand it to him, thought Harry, as he looked at George's perfectly carved ass. George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock.

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow. You can learn a _lot _of kinky shit from Muggles, I might add."

There was a small click and the door swung open.

"So — we'll get your trunk — you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George.

"Watch out for the bottom stair — it creaks from all the times Vernon and Dudley have wanked on it," Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.

Harry dashed around his room, collecting his composition notebook and passing it out of the window to Ron. Ron flipped through it, impressed beyond words. "This is beautiful," he said tearfully. He looked under the car seat for a notebook and gave it to Harry, demanding he compose more. Harry filled it, calling the piece, "Escaping My Prison Bars After Getting A Warning Not To Fuck Elves Anymore Outside Of School."Then Harry went to help Fred and George heave his trunk up the stairs. Harry heard Satan talk through Vernon.

At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window.

Vernon coughed.

"A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car. "One good push —"

"That's what she said," commented Ron.

"Orange," Fred said, putting a finger on his nose.

"Blue," George said, putting a perfectly manicured finger on his nose.

"You lose, Harry. Now you have to moan like you're having the best sex of your life," Ron stated.

Harry thought back to Hermione and moaned like no other moaner. Everyone cheered, and Dudley came in the room to pat him on the back before leaving.

Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car.

"Okay, let's go," George whispered in Harry's ear, giving his earlobe a good lick.

But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Uncle Vernon's voice.

"FUCKING OWLS!"Satan roared through Uncle Vernon.  
"I've forgotten Hedwig! Whatever, I haven't got time to save her. She woke up Vernon, so it's her own damn fault if he kills her." He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon walked through the locked door.

For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the penis.

Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry's arms and pulled as hard as they could.

"Vernon, you whale!" roared Satan. "He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!"

But the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid out of Uncle Vernon/Satan's grasp — Harry was in the car — he'd slammed the door shut —

"Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, and he threw a bouncy ball in celebration. Such an idiot. Never throw a bouncy ball in a car. The ball got caught underneath the pedal, so they were just floating there.

Harry couldn't believe it — Ron was so useless. He rolled down the window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. "Easy, breezy, beautiful Cover Girl," he said.

Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were all hanging, furious, out of Harry's window. Evil figures in history talked through Vernon.

"I bet what Ron just did makes you furious," Stalin said. "He's a problem, and the way to deal with problems like him is to get rid of them."

"I blame gingers for this economy," Hitler said. "Join me in my quest against the freckled and red-haired."

"I could seduce more women than you ever could," Rasputin taunted.

"Somebody better call an exorcist!" exclaimed George. He threw a business card at Dudley, which slit his cornea.

Harry was still thinking about Stalin's advice. He turned viciously towards Ron, but he realized that Ron was not the real enemy. He took out the AK-47 and shot down Uncle Vernon.

The Weasleys roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat, grinning from ear to ear. Fred finally got the ball out from under the pedal and they shot through the sky.

They heard a rattling noise. Hedwig had propelled her cage and was flying vengefully towards the car. Cringing, Harry let her in, but she had already turned. She screeched, and a flock of seagulls came and attacked Harry. Ron shot them down. He accidentally shot Hedwig, but she was invincible. She was... indestructible. He pushed the cage under the seat.

"So — what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening?"

Harry told them all about Dobbquisha, the warning she'd given Harry and the fiasco of the cunt pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when he had finished.

"Was she hot?," asked Fred finally. Harry gave the sign for so-so.

"I've done better," he said. "Like Hermione, Greengrass, the Patils, Abbott, Bones, Bell, Jones, Brown, Chang, the Delacours-"

"They don't come until the fourth book," Fred said.

"Really?" Harry asked, confused. He scratched his head. "Oh, well, I will."

Fred nodded appreciatively.

"Anyways," Harry continued. "McGonagall, my neighbor Mrs. Figg, Hooch, Johnson, Malfoy's mom, Lestrange, Parkinson, Madame Pomfrey, Sprout, and Neville's family. I've banged a couple hundred Muggles, too."

"It seems a bit dodgy," said George, disregarding Fred and Harry's digression from the matter at hand. "So Dobbquisha wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"I don't think she could," said Harry. "I told you, every time she got close to letting something slip, she started banging _me_ violently or banging her _head_ with my dick."

He saw Fred and George look at each other, obviously jealous of Harry.  
"What, you think she was lying to me?" said Harry.  
"Well," said Fred, "put it this way — sex-slave/elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon that whorish Dobbquisha was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

"Yes," said Harry and Ron together, instantly.  
"Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He's jealous of me, ever since Hermione gave me that lustful look in first year."  
"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"  
"Maybe, it's a very common name," said Harry. "Why?"

"I've heard Papa Weasley talking about him," said George. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."  
"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of the evil, kinky things he did. Load of shit — Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who's inner circle."

Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before, and they didn't surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look like a friendly guy who just enjoys respectfully praising women for their beauty. Malfoy was his archenemy when it came to banging girls.

"I don't know whether the Malfoys own a sex-elf. . . ." said Harry.

"Well, whoever owns her will be an old wizarding family, and they'll be rrrrrich," said Fred, rolling the r.

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a sex-elf to help Dad practice," said George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. Sex-elves come with big old manors and strip clubs and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house. . . ."

Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he could just see Malfoy strutting his stuff around a large manor house, practicing some sick dance moves on one of those expensive dance game machines. Sending the family's sex servant to stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Harry been stupid to take Dobbquisha seriously?

"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron. "I was getting really worried when you didn't answer any of my sowls. I thought it was Errol's fault at first —"

"Who's Errol?"

"Our owl. He's ancient. He was born before the rise of man. I have the paperwork to verify it. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. Ugh, he's just like USPS. So then I tried to borrow Hermes —"

"_Who_?"

"The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect," said Fred from the front.

"But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "Said he needed him. That louse."

"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George, frowning. "And he _has _been sending a lot of sowls and spending a load of time shut up in his room. . . . I mean, there's only so many times you can polish prefect handcuffs. . . . You're driving too high, Fred," he added, raising his voice on high. Fred apologized and handed over the pipe.

"So, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry, having no clue as to what the answer might be.

"Er, no, idiot," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able to get it back on the parking asteroid without Mum noticing we flew it." Ron was high, too.

"What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?"

"He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse of Muggle Sex Toys Office."

"The _what_?"

"It's all to do with bewitching sex toys that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her dildo was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to entertain her friends with it. It was a nightmare — Dad was working overtime for millennia."

"What happened?"

"The dildo went berserk and squirted boiling tea into their vaginas and one man ended up in the hospital with a severely swollen anus. Dad was going frantic — it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office — and they had to do the Killing Curse and all sorts of stuff to cover it up —"

"But your dad — this car —"

Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided _our _house he'd have to shoot himself. It drives Mum mad."

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes. . . . Just as well, it's getting light. . . ."

A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east. Harry used charcoal to compose on the seats. Music filled his ears and he named his piece, "A Faint Pinkish Glow Visible Along The Horizon To The East".

Fred brought the car lower, and Harry saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

"We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery St. Strip-pole."

"Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard. "We made it to the parking asteroid! One small park for a wizard, one giant park for wizardkind!" Harry shook his head in dismay. He looked out for the first time at Ron's house.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked like Voldemort's penis. Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, the burrow. Harry smirked. He knew what they meant by that. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber thongs and a very stained cauldron. Flocks of fat brown chickens were humping each other around the yard. They shrieked when they saw the humans, but Ron shot them down before they could attack them.

"It's not much," said Ron.  
"It's _wonderful,_" said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive. They got out of the car.  
"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, 'Mum, look who turned up in Ginny's bedroom in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to know that Harry approves of her daughter and no one need ever know we flew the car."

"Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the — at the top —"

Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The other three wheeled around.

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, stomping on the dead chickens, and for a short, plump, love-making kind of woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a sadist.

"_Ah,_" said Fred.

"Oh, dear," said George.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next, until she saw Harry's. His was remarkably seductive. She gulped. She was wearing a semen-stained apron with a few condoms sticking out of the pocket. Harry approved.

"_So,_" she said. She gulped. Harry's eyes smoldered at her.

" 'Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.

"Have you any idea how worried your girls and I have been?" said Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to —"

All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.

_"Beds empty_! _Girls abandoned!_ _We had to pay in advance for the full three hours, no return! No note_! _Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care_? _— never, as long as I've lived — you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —_"

"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You hurt the girls' feelings! They thought they weren't doing a good enough job! You could have _died, _you could have been _seen, _you could have lost your father his _job _—"

It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who leaned towards her.

"I'm _very_ pleased to see you, Harry, baby," she purred. "Come in and have some breakfast. Harry, you can eat it with me in my bedroom." She winked.

She turned and sashayed back into the house and Harry, after a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry sat down on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had never been in a wizard house before. It looked like a brothel.

The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like _Time to clean the toys, Time for oral, _and _You're late. _Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like _Seduce Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in 'Baking', _and _One Minute Sex Routines When You're In A Hurry — It's Magic_! And unless Harry's ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was "Fucking Hour, with the popular singing sex-ceress, Celestina Sexbeck."

Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw aphrodisiacs into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like "don't know _what _you were thinking of," and "_never _would have believed it."

"I don't blame _you, _love," she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine conch penis and deer sausages onto his plate as she ran a hand through his hair. She plopped herself on his lap. Harry just can't keep them females away, can he? "Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night I was saying I'd come and get you myself if you hadn't sowled back to Ron by Friday. But really" (she was now placing three condoms and a naked picture next to his plate), "flying an illegal car halfway across the country — anyone could have seen you —" She added quietly in Harry's ear, "I thought it was sexy and badass of you to go along with it."

She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to wash each other, clinking gently in the background.

"It was _cloudy, _Mum!" said Fred.

"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snapped.

"They were starving him, Mum!" said George.

"And you!" said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a lustful expression that she fed Harry chocolate syrup off her fingers. He winked at her.

At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, red-headed figure in skimpy underwear, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal. Harry mouthed, '2:00'. She nodded, and ran out.

"Ginny," said Ron in an undertone to Harry. "My sister. She's been talking about you all summer."

"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred said with a grin, but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. She was getting jealous.

She whispered in Harry's ear. "I'm actually their stepmother. My name is Krystaliqua. I'm only 17, their mother died last year and I'm her replacement. I'm using an aging spell. They don't know a thing. Even Arthur."

He smirked, replying, "I'm actually 18, don't tell anyone. My parents had me accidentally and they hid it from everyone. They paid someone to lend them their baby for visitors and they put the invisibility cloak on me." It's true. Krystaliqua smiled appreciatively.

"_Blimey, _I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. "I think I'll go to bed and —"

"You will not," snapped Krystaliqua. "It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; it's mating season again —"

"Oh, Mum —"

"And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. "You go up to my bedroom, dear," she added to Harry. "You didn't ask them to fly that wretched car —"

But Harry, who felt wide awake, said quickly, "I'll help Ron. I've never seen a de-gnoming —"

"That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said Mrs. Weasley, anxious to have him. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject —"

And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groaned.

"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden —"

Harry looked at the cover of Mrs. Weasley's book. Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words _Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. _There was a big photograph on the front of a sexy wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who Harry supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, was stripping down. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him.

"Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book...,wonderfully illustrated..."

"Mum _fancies _him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."

Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside. Harry stayed behind for a while, and they threw propriety out of the window and fucked on the dining table. Krystaliqua was moaning loudly.

Fred was in the bathroom. He walked to see his 'mother' and Harry getting it on on the dining table. He sat down with a video camera and recorded silently.

"Oh, Harry," Krystaliqua gasped. "Right there, ohh, right there, yes, harder, harder, faster, faster."

"Could you say that louder? This camera can't pick up sound that faint," Fred requested. Krystaliqua screamed and jumped off the table. The spells had worn off and she looked like her regular self.

"Fred!" she shrieked.

"Who are you?" he asked. "I'm gonna sell this on the Hogwarts Express."

Harry shook his head and walked out on them. He wasn't going to bother with Krystaliqua if she was going to be so troublesome. He went to help George and Ron.

"Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry told Ron as they crossed the lawn.

"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods. . . ."

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up. "_This _is a gnome," he said grimly.

"Fuck me! Fuck me!" squealed the gnome.

It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.

"This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above his head ("Fuck me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. He sang the theme song to Wonderpets as George shot the gnome.

He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," said George. "I bet I can get mine beyond that can of weed."

Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sucked Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it off — until —

"Wow, Harry — that must've been 500 miles. . . ."  
The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.  
"See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put."

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

"They'll be back," said Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here. . . . Dad's too soft with them; he invites them in on Tuesdays and Thursdays to play Texas hold'em with him."

Just then, the front door slammed.  
"He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!"  
They hurried through the garden and back into the house.  
Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his monocle off and his eyes closed. He was a creepy pedophile, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing leather briefs.

"What a night," he mumbled, groping the teapot as they all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned." His eyes flung open. His irises were bright red. "He doesn't know what's coming for him," he growled in a possessed double-voice. He closed his eyes again.

Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of piss and sighed.  
"Eat anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly.  
"All I ate was a few shrinking handcuff keys and a biting kettle," yawned Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely high capybaras, but that's the Committee on Experimental Angel Dust, thank goodness. . . ."

"Why would anyone bother making handcuff keys shrink?" said George.

"Just Muggle-baiting," smiled Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking so they can never find it when they need it. . . . Then the key turns unbelievably radioactive, attaches to the Muggle, and kills them over a course of time. The key then jumps onto their loved ones and kills them too. Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking — they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face."

"And simple solutions to helping our economy get better, like safe sex," Harry added.

Arthur continued, giving Harry the middle finger for interrupting him, "But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe —"

"LIKE DUCKS, FOR INSTANCE?"

Krystaliqua had appeared, holding a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife.

"D-ducks, Molly, dear?"

"Oh, wait, sorry, Arthur, I meant cars," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a sports car and telling his _wife_-" Krystaliqua smirked slyly at Harry. He winked. "-all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while _really _he was enchanting it to make it _fly high._"

Mr. Weasley blinked.

"Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if — er — he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. . . . There's a loophole in the law, you'll find. . . . As long as he wasn't _intending _to fly the car, the fact that the car _could _fly wouldn't —"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouted Krystaliqua. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle shit in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!"

"Harry?" said Mr. Weasley blankly. "Harry who? Harry Styles? Because, if so, I'm calling my hit men over- he practically stole the innocence of my Ginny, the gay bastard." Two brawny men appeared behind him, flexing their muscles and looking menacing.  
Arthur looked around, saw Harry, and jumped.  
"Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's been dissing you so much this summer —"

"Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night!" shouted Krystaliqua. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I — I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Krystaliqua's eyes, "that — that was very retarded, boys — very retarded indeed. . . ."

"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Harry as Krystaliqua got turned on by Arthur correcting his mistake. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom." Harry scratched his head, wondering if he forgot that Ron was bisexual. They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry just caught sight of a pair of bright brown lustful eyes undressing him before it closed with a snap.

"Ginny," said Ron. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally —"

"Oh, she's not being shy," Harry said, smirking.

They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with inappropriate pictures and a small plaque on it, saying Ronald's place.

Harry stepped in, his head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blinked. It was like walking into a little girl's playhouse: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a pretty shade of pink: the bed- spread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing sparkly pink thongs, posing with broomsticks, and winking slowly.

"Your Quidditch team?" said Harry. Quidditch was a chain strip club that encouraged competitiveness and teamwork. Their interior decoration inspired a sports game that was played by many witches and wizards.

"The Chudley Condoms," said Ron, pointing at the pink bed-spread, which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and a condom. "Ninth in the league."

Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of porn mags that all seemed to feature _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Kinky Muggle. _Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog semen on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was holding a swiss pocket knife, glaring viciously at Harry.

Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling 'playing' cards on the floor and looked out of the tiny window. In the field far below he could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys' hedge, holding various weapons.

"Oh, no," Ron said. "The gnome mob's getting involved." He shot them down.

Then Harry turned to look at Ron, who was watching him almost nervously, as though waiting for his opinion about the room.

"It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging the pipes and moaning. . . ."

But Harry, grinning widely, said, "This is the worst bloody house I've ever been in. You guys must be the poorest family in the wizarding world."

Ron's ears went pink.


	4. At Flourish and Botts

**Chapter 4: At Flourish and Botts**

Life at the Burrow was as different as possible from life on Privet Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys' house burst with the strange and unexpected. Harry got a shock the first time he looked in the mirror over the kitchen man- telpiece and it shouted, "_Your shirt's untucked, you fucktard_!" The ghoul in the attic moaned and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too crazy, and small explosions and womanly screams from Fred and George's bedroom were considered perfectly normal. What Harry found most unusual about life at Ron's, however, wasn't the talking mirror or the wanking ghoul: It was the fact that everybody there seemed to fancy him.

Krystaliqua fussed over the state of his black Calvin Klein boxer shorts and tried to force him to eat fourth helpings at every meal. Mr. Weasley liked Harry to sit on him at the dinner table so that he could bombard him with questions about life with Muggles, asking him to explain how things like dildos and the postal service worked.

"_Fascinating_!" he would say as Harry talked him through sexting. "_Ingenious, _really, how many ways Muggles have found of getting along without magic."

Harry heard from Hogwarts one sunny morning about a week after he had arrived at the Burrow. He and Ron went down to breakfast to find Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny already sitting at the kitchen table. The moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl on him and licked the mess off his boxers. Ginny seemed very prone to knocking lickable things on him whenever Harry entered a room. She dived under the table to retrieve the bowl and emerged with her face glowing beautifully like a pregnant woman. Pretending he hadn't noticed this, Harry sat down and took the spaghetti Krystaliqua offered him. They ate the same strand just like the Lady and the Tramp and they started making out. Mr. Weasley impaled Harry's shoulder with a pencil.

"Letters from school," said Mr. Weasley, passing Harry and Ron identical envelopes made of cheap paper, addressed in green ink. "Dumbledore already knows you're here, Harry — doesn't miss a trick, that man." Harry looked around shiftily. "You two've got them, too," he added, as Fred and George ambled in, still in nothing

For a few minutes there was moaning as they all read their letters. Harry's told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King's Cross station on September first. There was also a list of the new books he'd need for the coming year.

second-year students will require:

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Infinity_

by Miranda Durshawk  
_Bang with a Banshee _by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Gadding with Girls _by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Holidays with Hags _by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Travels on Trolls _by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Viagra with Vampires _by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Wanking with Werewolves _by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Year in the Yeti _by Gilderoy Lockhart

Fred, who had finished his own list, violently grabbed Harry's without his explicit consent. Harry bitch slapped Fred.

"You've been told to get all Lockhart's books, too!" he shouted unnecessarily. "The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a lover of his — bet it's a witch."

At this point, Fred caught his mother's eye and quickly busied himself with the "marmalade".

"That lot won't come expensive," said George, with a quick look at his parents. "Lockhart's books are really cheap. . . ."

"Well, we'll manage," said 'Mrs. Weasley', but she looked worried. "I expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things secondhand."

"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?" Harry asked Ginny, winking like the sexy beast he was.

She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish. The butter crusted over quickly, growing over her forearm, rendering it useless. Harry amputated her arm and replaced it with an enhanced version. Fortunately no one saw this except Harry, because just then Ron's elder 71 year old brother Percy walked in. He was already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his adult diaper. He was born like Benjamin Button.

"Morning, all," croaked Percy. "Lovely day."

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a molting, gray feather duster — at least, that was what Harry thought it was, until he saw that it was breathing heavily. Percy fell on the floor. No one helped him up.

"Errol!" said Ron, taking the limp owl from the fallen Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing. "_Finally _— he's got Hermione's answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys."

Harry held his breath, hopeful.

He carried Errol to a perch just inside the back door and tried to stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off again so Ron laid him on the cutting board instead, muttering, "Pathetic." He cut up Errol and deep fried him. Then he ripped open Hermione's letter with a chainsaw and read it out loud:

" '_Dear Ron, and Harry if you're there, wink wink, _

" '_I hope everything went all right and that Harry's dick is okay and that you didn't do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would get Harry into trouble, too. I don't care about you getting in trouble; you're such a genital wart. Not you, Harry. I've been really worried and horny and if Harry is all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl, because the one you sent to me is bloody useless. You should cut it up and deep fry it. _

"Already there," said Ron.

"'_I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course_' — How _can _she be?" said Ron in horror. "We're on vacation! — '_and we're going to London next NEVER to buy my new books. Why don't we meet in Diagon Alley_?

"'_Let me know what's happening as soon as you can. Love/hate angst from Hermione_.' "

"Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too," said Krystaliqua, starting to clear the table. "What're you all up to today?"

Harry, Ron, Fred, and George were planning to go up Mt. Everest to a small paddock the Weasleys owned. It was surrounded by stone blocks that blocked it from view of the village below, meaning that they could practice Quidditch there, as long as they didn't fly too high.

They couldn't use _real_ Quidditch balls, which would have been hard to explain if they had escaped and flown away over the village; instead they threw bowling balls for one another to catch. They took turns mounting Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand, which was easily the best broom; Ron's old Shooting Star was often outstripped by passing butterflies. Then again, the audience would probably appreciate a slower broom.

Five minutes later they were marching up the hill, broomsticks over their shoulders. They had asked Percy if he wanted to join them, but he had said he was busy. Harry had only seen Percy at mealtimes so far; he stayed shut in his room the rest of the time.

"Wish I knew what he was up to," said Fred, frowning. "He's not himself. His exam results came the day before you did, because no one cares about you; infinity O.W.L.s and he hardly gloated at all."

"Ordinary Wizarding Levels," George explained, seeing Harry's puzzled look. Harry became more confused because he didn't intend to look confused in the first place. George was horrible at reading people. "Bill got infinity, too. If we're not careful, we'll have another Head Boy in the family. I don't think I could stand the shame." He then proceeded to smoke some pot.

Bill was the oldest Weasley brother. If you disregard Percy's 'age', of course. He and the next brother, Charlie, had already left Hogwarts. Harry had never met either of them, but knew that Charlie was in Venus studying dragon shit and Bill in Mars working for the wizard's bank, Gringotts.

"Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this year," said George after a while. "Five sets of Lockhart books! And Ginny needs robes and a wand and a thong and mags and everything. . . ."

Harry said nothing. He felt smug. Stored in an underground vault at Gringotts in London was a massive fortune that his parents had left him. Of course, it was only in the wizarding world that he had money; you couldn't use Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts in Muggle shops. It was stupid though, because why would someone turn down gold in any form? He had never mentioned his Gringotts bank account to the Dursleys; he didn't think their horror of anything connected with magic would stretch to a large pile of gold. But he had a backup plan. If Ron fucked up someday in front of them, Harry had a tiny dart gun that he always placed under his tongue. He would shoot them with the darts and bury them alive.

Krystaliqua woke them all early the following Wednesday. After a quick half a dozen shit sandwiches each, they pulled on their flasher coats and Krystaliqua took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.

"We're running low, Arthur," she sighed. "We'll have to steal some more today. . . . Ah well, guests last! Before you, Harry dear!" Krystaliqua threw the powder into the fire, and said "Diagon Alley." She disappeared in green flames.

Fred took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.

George dipped his hand into the flowerpot. The fire roared and whipped George out of sight, too.

Arthur said, "Don't worry, Harry, we won't leave you behind."

"W-what am I supposed to do?" he stammered.  
"He's never traveled by Floo powder," said Ron suddenly. "Sorry, Harry, I forgot."  
"Never?" said Mr. Weasley. "But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your things last year?"  
"I went with the Underground —"  
"Really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Were there _escapators_? How exactly —"  
"Yes, retard," Harry said.  
"You must speak clearly, dear," Ron told Harry. "And be sure to get out at the right grate. . . ."

"The right what?" said Harry retardedly.

"Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you should know, but as long as you've spoken clearly and not stutter like you normally do —"

Trying hard to bear all this in mind, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder and walked to the edge of the fire. He bravely threw it down in a heroic pose. The powder went up his nose and inspired him.

"D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-ia-g-g-g-g-g-g-go n A-a-a-a-alley," he sang.

It felt as though he was a ballerina. He seemed to be spinning very fast — the roaring in his ears was enlightening — he tried to keep his eyes open but the whirl of green flames overwhelmed him with beauty— something hard shattered his elbow and he tucked it in tightly, still spinning and spinning — now it felt as though cold hands were groping his face — squinting through his glasses he saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond — he closed his eyes again wishing it would never stop, and then —

He fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge of his glasses get sucked into a black hole.

Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, he got to his feet, holding his half glasses up to his eyes. He was quite alone, but _where _he was, he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop — but something in here was likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

A glass case nearby held withered blades on a cushion, a brain-stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Satanic-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even better, the dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window was definitely not Diagon Alley. Harry felt like a badass. He didn't belong in Diagon Alley. He belonged on Knockturn Alley.

"I have found my people!" he shouted to the world. "Cu-cu-cacho!"

He promptly exhaled some weed-smoking fumes.

The slower he got out of here, the better. Nose still broken where it had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the door, but before he'd got halfway toward it, two people appeared on the other side of the glass — and one of them was the very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was having the time of his life, covered in soot, and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked quickly around and spotted a large black cabinet to his left; he shot inside it and pulled the doors closed, leaving a small crack to peep through. Seconds later, a bell exploded from Draco's magnificent presence, and Malfoy strutted into the shop.

The man who followed could only be Draco's mother. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his partner and saying, "Touch everything, Draco. Or else I will kill you."

Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought you were going to buy me a present."

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," said his father, eating a perfectly sauced drumstick against the counter.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" said Malfoy, looking crazed. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dum- bledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that sexy, it's just because he's _famous _. . . famous for having a stupid _penis_ _scar _on his forehead. . . ."

"I'm sure that turns girls on," Lucius countered.

Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.

". . . everyone thinks he's so _smart, _wonderful, sexy, amazing, beautiful, romantic, sweet, loving, caring, brave, breathtaking _Potter _with his _scar _and his _broomstick _and his insanely large _dick_—"

"You have told me this at least thirty-two times already," said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. "And I would remind you that it is not — prudent — to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dick Lord disappear — ah, Mr. Borgin."

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face.

"Mr. Malfoy, what an inconvenience to see you again," said Mr. Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair. "Disappointed— and young Master Malfoy, too — _so_ not charmed. How may I not be of assistance? I must show you, just in a few years ago, and very unreasonably priced —"

"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," said Mr. Malfoy.

"Selling?" The frown deepened on Mr. Borgin's face. "Even worse, ye old bastard."

"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids," said Mr. Malfoy, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to read.

"No," Borgin said.

"I have a few — ah — items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call. . . ."

Mr. Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked down the list. He growled and took out a lighter. He burned the list and then lighted up his weed.

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?" Mr. Malfoy's lip curled.

"I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, unfortunately, and the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome, yay. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act — no doubt that Muggle-loving bastard Arthur Weasley is behind it —"

"Are you for the Dark Arts or for Muggles?" Draco demanded.

"Neither," Mr. Burgin said. "I'm very angsty. I hate you, and I hate everyone. Just leave me alone!" He burst into tears of angst.

"— and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it _appear _—"

"I understand, pinhead, of course," said Mr. Borgin. "Let me see . . ."

"Can I have _that_?" interrupted Draco, touching the withered blades on their cushion.

"Ah, the Blades of Glory!" said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a skittle and it attacks everyone but the owner! Best friend of all witches and wizards! Your son has better taste than you, Fucktard Malfoy."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a witch or a wizard, Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said lazily, "Offense, _loser_, every single possible offense meant —"

"Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still, "that may indeed be all he is fit for —"

"It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger —"

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam and strip," snapped Mr. Malfoy.

"Ha!" said Harry loudly, pleased to see Draco looking both abashed and angry.

"Stop talking," said Mr. Borgin, in his oily voice. "I don't like your voice."

"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," said Mr. Malfoy shortly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today —"

They started to haggle. Harry watched nervously as Draco drew nearer and nearer to his hiding place, examining the objects for sale. Draco paused to examine a long coil of rope and to read, smirking, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals (ooooh), _Caution: Please Touch. Cursed _— _Has Claimed the Virginity of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date._

Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He walked forward — he stretched out his hand for the handle, opened it, saw Harry, waved, closed it, and carried on with his business.

"Done," said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. "Come, Draco. Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods."  
The moment the door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his angsty manner.  
"Good day yourself, SirMalfoy, and if the stories are true, I can't wait to get it on with you someday. Someday, Lucius, we will find true love together." Muttering happily, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room. He was being mean to cover his attraction to Lucius Malfoy.

Harry waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could, slipped out of the cabinet, past the glass cases, and out of the shop door.  
Clutching his half glasses to his face, Harry stared around.

He had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he'd just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest, but opposite was a beautiful window display of kaleidoscope eyes and, two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Harry was very high. Two shabby-looking wizards were having sex in the shadow of a doorway, muttering sweet-nothings to each other. Harry offered them condoms and walked away, wishing them a happy life together.

An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling recreational marijuana told him he was in Knockturn Alley. He supposed he hadn't spoken clearly enough through his mouthful of ashes back in the Weasleys' fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to do.

"Not lost are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making him jump into her.

An aged witch stood rubbed against him, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry backed away.

"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just —"  
"HARRY! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"  
Harry's heart leapt. So did the witch; a load of fingernails cascaded down over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding toward them, beetle eyes flashing over his great bristling beard.

"Hagrid!" Harry croaked in relief. "I was lost — Floo pow- der —"

Hagrid seized Harry by the neck and pulled him away from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. Her shrieks followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out into bright sunlight. Harry saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the distance — Gringotts Bank. Hagrid had threw him right into Diagon Alley.

"Yer a mess!" said Hagrid viciously, brushing soot off Harry so forcefully he knocked him into a barrel of dragon dung outside an apothecary. "Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley- dodgy place, Harry — don' want no one ter see yeh down there —"

"But I found my people_,_" said Harry, ducking as Hagrid tried to choke him. "I told you, I was lost — what were you doing down there, anyway?"

"_I _was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Muggle Repellent," growled Hagrid. "They're stealin' the school cabbages. Yer not on yer own?"

"I'm staying with the Weasleys but we got separated," Harry explained. "I've got to go and find them. . . ."  
They set off down the street, with Hagrid holding Harry by an ear.  
"How come yeh never sowled back ter me!?" yelled Hagrid finally, with tears in his eyes as Harry jogged alongside him (he had to take three steps to every stride of Hagrid's enormous boots). Harry explained all about Dobbquisha and the Dursleys.

"Muggles," growled Hagrid. "If I'd've known —"  
"Harry! Harry! Over here!"  
Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger posing naked at the top of the white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her smooth, shiny, soft brown hair flying behind her.

"What happened to your glasses? Hello, Rubeus Hagrid — Oh, it's _wonderful _to see you again, Harry — Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?"

"As soon as I've found the Weasleys," said Harry. He put an arm around Hermione, who attracted so many men that Harry crucio-d all of them before they could come within a ten foot radius. Hermione thought it was so romantic.

"Yeh won't have long ter wait," Hagrid said with a frown. "Blood traitors," he muttered under his breath.

Harry and Hermione looked around, feeling each other up: Sprinting up the crowded street were Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley.  
"Harry," Mr. Weasley panted. "We _hoped _you'd gone more than one grate too far. . . ." He mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's frantic — she's coming now —"  
"Where did you come out?" Ron asked. "Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid grimly.  
"_Excellent_!" said Fred and George together.  
"We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously.

"I should ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid, punching them all in the face.

Mrs. Weasley now came galloping on a horse into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other, her legs scraping against the pavement. Her wounds became infected and she had to go to get her legs amputated.

"Oh, Harry — oh, my love — you could have been anywhere —"

Gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot. Mr. Weasley took Harry's glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, which made it worse so he superglued them together, and returned them, good as new.

"Well, gotta be off," said Hagrid evilly, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley ("Knockturn Alley! If you hadn't found him, Hagrid!"). "See yer at Hogwarts!" And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

"Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione as they climbed the Gringotts steps. "Malfoy and his mother."

"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" said Mr. Weasley sharply behind them.

"No, he was selling —"

"So he's worried," said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. "Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something. . . ."

"You be careful, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were summoned into the bank by a goblin at the door. "That family...well, I knew they were trouble when they walked in. Don't go biting off more than you can chew —"

"So you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" said Mr. Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione's parents, who were the most beautiful people he had ever seen.

"But you're _Muggles_!" said Mr. Weasley delightedly. "We must have a drink and a bang! What's that you've got there? Oh, you're changing Muggle money. Molly, look over here before I make you look, bitch!" He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Mr. Granger's hand.

"Meet you back here," Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys and Harry were forced to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along minature train tracks through the bank's underground tunnels. Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys' vault, but felt even better, far better than he had in Knock- turn Alley, when it was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon.

_Ha_, thought Harry. _They ain't never gon be as rich as me._

Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. Harry felt even better when they reached his vault. He made sure everyone could see the contents as he slowly shoved handfuls of coins into a leather bag.

Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a secondhand robe shop. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky 'Cauldron' for a drink.

"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to steal your schoolbooks," said Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny. "And not one step down Knockturn Alley!" she shouted at the twins' retreating backs, giving them the middle finger as a warning.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully in Harry's pocket was clamoring to be spent boastfully in front of Ron and Hermione, so he bought three mega-large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams, which they took their first slurp as they wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. It was horrible, to say the least. Ron roared and threw the ice cream across Diagon Alley in a fit of rage. Hermione dropped it and smushed it with her foot. Harry smirked. Actually, he didn't order the strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice cream for himself. He ordered the toasted marshmallow-and-vanilla ice cream, which was the best ice cream the universe had to offer. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Condom robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment next door. In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stealing Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of bro- ken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply intriguing novel called _Prefects Who Gained Power._

"_A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers,_" Ron read aloud off the back cover. "That sounds fascinating_!_"

"It is," Percy agreed.

"'Course, he's very ambitious, Percy, he's got it all planned out. . . . He wants to be Minister of Magic. . ." Ron told Harry and Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to it.

An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. Some people had knives. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

GILDEROY LOCKHART  
will be vandalizing copies of his autobiography _MAGICAL ME  
_today 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. Harry frowned. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!"

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around the supposed Mrs. Weasley's age. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, bitches. . . . Don't push, there . . . mind the books, now. . . ."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was vandalizing his books. They each grabbed a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Infinity _and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

"Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept fluffing her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute. . . ."

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing a thong of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

"Out of the way, there," the photographer snarled at Ron, moving closer to get a better shot. "This is for the _Daily Prophet _—"

"Big deal," said Ron, putting a cast around his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron — and then he saw Harry. He stared. He drooled. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shrieked, "It _can't _be Harry Potter?"

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry's arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry smiled charmingly as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.

"Nice big smile, Harry," said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page. I can't believe I'm finally meeting you! I've been waiting all my life for this moment!"

When he finally let go of Harry's hand, Harry could hardly feel his fingers. He tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys, having enough of Lockhart's fangirling, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped him tightly to his side.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!

"When beautiful Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to steal my autobiography — which I shall be happy to present him now, 0.001% discount —" The crowd applauded again. "He had _no idea,_" Lockhart continued, giving Harry a big shake that gave him brain damage, "that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me._" Lockhart winked at Harry. "He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd booed and protested and Harry found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering not at all under their weight, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new disgusting, rusty cauldron.

"You have these," Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books into the cauldron. The cauldron collapsed in on itself from the weight. Harry shook his head disparagingly, and picked up the books, shoving them into Ginny's arms. "I'll buy my own —"

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said a voice Harry had trouble recognizing. He straightened up and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sweet smile.

"_Famous _Harry Potter," said Malfoy. "Can't even go into a _bookshop _without making the front page." He sneered.

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" said Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken a full sentence in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy.

"Harry, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" congratulated Malfoy. He patted Harry on the back sincerely and good-naturedly. Ginny went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.

"Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something pleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a decade to pay for all those."

Ron went as red as Ginny. He shoved his books into Ginny's arms, too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.

"Well, Ron," Harry started. "Malfoy does have a point here. Whereas I have mounds of Galleons and Sickles and Knuts, your family has nothing."

"True," Hermione agreed.

"Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering. Draco had returned to his pleasant side and offered lollipops to Harry and Hermione.

"Sorry, I only have two lollipops" Draco apologized to Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George. Draco morphed back into his hostile self. "And I only give them to people with souls!"

"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids . . . I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very new, very shiny copy of _A Master's Guide to Transfiguration._

"What?" Mr. Malfoy said, confused. He then proceeded to smirk. "Did you steal

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wiz- ard, Malfoy," he said.

"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley . . . and I thought your family could sink no lower —"

There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him back- ward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thunder- ing down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please — please!" cried the assistant, and then, louder than all —

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up —"

Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an _Encyclopedia of Toadstools. _He was still holding Ginny's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

"Here, girl — take your book — it's the best your father can give you —" Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that — no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter — bad blood, that's what it is — come on now — let's get outta here." Hagrid shook his head deviously at an invisible camera, conveying a message that he didn't mean a word of that.

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them from leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury.

"A _fine _example to set for your children . . . _brawling _in public . . . _what _Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought of me—"

"He was turned on," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the _Daily Prophet _if he'd be able to work the fight into his report — said it was all publicity —"

But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys, and all their shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using Floo powder. They said good-bye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side; Mr. Weasley started to ask them how bus stops worked, but stopped quickly when Mrs. Weasley punched his abdomen, rupturing it.

Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before helping himself to Floo powder. It definitely was his favorite way to travel.


	5. Whomping the Willow

**Chapter Five: Whomping the Willow**

The end of the summer vacation came too slow for Harry's liking. He was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, and his month at the Burrow had been the worst of his life. It wasn't difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when he thought of the Ron's pitiful shack compared to his nice middle class suburban house.

On their last evening, Krystaliqua conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of Harry's favorite things, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with ventriloquism. Then it was time for a last family wank and bed.

It took a long while to get started next morning. They were up at dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do.

Krystaliqua was PMS-ing, and dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare jock straps (for Ginny) and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, naked with bits of treacle pudding on their bodies; and Mr. Weasley broke his neck, tripping over a stray hoe as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car.

Harry couldn't see how eight people, six large trunks, two owls, and a rat were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia. He had reckoned, of course, without the special features that Mr. Weasley had added.

"Not a word to Molly," he whispered to Harry as he opened the trunk and showed him how it had been magically expanded so that the luggage fitted easily. He warned him to be quiet by showing Harry his whip.

When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were all sitting comfortably side by side, and said, "Fuck you, Arthur! I know you magically enhanced the car to make it extremely roomy on the inside!"

Mr. Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the yard, Harry turning back for a last sneer at the house. He barely had time to wonder when he'd have to see that piece of shit again when they were back — Fred had forgotten his box of Playboy condoms. Five minutes after that, they skidded to a halt in the yard so that George could run in for his broomstick. They had almost reached the highway when Ginny shrieked that she'd left her diary. Arthur looked over and slapped her for being so loud. By the time she had clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high.

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife.  
"Molly, my hoe —"  
"_No, _dipshit —"  
"No one would see — this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed — that'd get us up in the air — then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser —"

"I fucking said fucking _no, _you fucking fucktard, not in fucking broad fucking daylight!" She punched his face.

"Boy, their marriage is in trouble," Harry chuckled to Ron, who nodded.

They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashed across the road to get trolleys for their trunks and they all hurried into the station.

"Percy first," said Krystaliqua looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they had only five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier.

Percy sprinted forward and vanished conspicuously. Half the Muggles in the station noticed his disappearance. Mr. Weasley went next; Fred and George followed.

"I'll take Ginny and you two come right after us," Mrs. Weasley told Harry and Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand and setting off. In the blink of an eye they were gone.

"Let's go together, we've only got a minute," Ron said to Harry, reaching for his hand. Harry shifted away, disgusted.

Harry made sure that Hedwig's cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the barrier. He felt perfectly confident. Both of them bent low over the handles of their trolleys and walked purposefully toward the barrier, gathering speed. A few feet away from it, they broke into a run and —

BOOM.

Both trolleys hit the barrier and exploded; Ron's trunk was magically shredded to pieces (not that it was that valuable anyways), Harry was knocked off his feet, and Hedwig's cage bounced onto the shiny floor, and she rolled away, burning with the flames of hell; people all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, "What the fuck d'you think you're doing?"

"Lost control of the trolley," Harry smiled charmingly, clutching his crotch as he got up. Ron ran to mercy-kill Hedwig, who was causing such a scene that there was a lot of muttering about bitchin' animals in the crowd.

"Why can't we get through?" Harry hissed to Ron.  
"I dunno —"  
"Ugh, you don't know anything."

Ron looked wildly around. A million horny people were still ogling them.  
"We're going to miss the train," Ron whispered. "I don't understand why the gateway's sealed itself...it's such a freakin' bitch —"

Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ten seconds . . . nine seconds . . . Like hell he was going back to that shithole of a house called The Burrow.  
He wheeled his trolley forward until it was right against the barrier and pushed with all his might. The metal remained solid.  
Three seconds . . . two seconds . . . one second . . .  
"It's gone," said Ron, sounding stupid. "The train's left. What if Mum and Dad can't get back through to us? Have you got any Muggle money?"

Harry gave an evil laugh. "Absolutely. I've robbed twenty banks."

Ron pressed his ear to the cold barrier.

"Can't hear a thing," he said tensely. "What're we going to do? I don't know how long it'll take my bitch of a Mum and Dad to get back to us."

They looked around. People were still watching them, mainly because of Hedwig coming back alive better than ever.

"I think we'd better go and wait by the car," said Harry. "We're attracting too much atten —"

"Harry!" said Ron, his eyes gleaming. "The car!"

"What about it?"  
"We can fly the car to Hogwarts!"  
"But I thought — what about sending a letter to the school-"

Ron ignored his more practical suggestion. "We're stuck, right? And we've got to get to school, haven't we? And even underage wizards are allowed to use magic if it's a real emergency, section nineteen or something of the Restriction of Thingy —"

"But your mum and dad . . ." said Harry, pushing against the barrier again in the vain hope that it would give way. "How will they get home?"

"They don't need the car!" said Ron impatiently. "They know how to Apparate! You know, just vanish and reappear at home! They only bother with Floo powder and the car because we're all underage and we're not allowed to Apparate yet. . . ."

Harry's feeling of panic turned suddenly to excitement.  
"Can you fly it?"  
"No problem," said Ron, wheeling his trolley around to face the exit. "C'mon, let's go. If we hurry we'll be able to follow the Hogwarts Express —"

And they marched off through the crowd of curious Muggles, out of the station and back onto the side road where the old Ford Anglia was parked.

Ron unlocked the cavernous trunk with a series of taps from his wand. They heaved their luggage back in, put Hedwig on the back seat, and got into the front.

"Check that no one's watching," said Ron, starting the ignition with another tap of his wand. Harry stuck his head out of the win- dow: Traffic was rumbling along the main road ahead, but their street was empty.

"Okay," he said.

Ron pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard. The car around them vanished — and so did they. Harry could feel the seat vibrating beneath him, hear the engine, feel his hands on his knees and his glasses on his nose, but for all he could see, he had become a pair of eyeballs, floating a few feet above the ground in a dingy street full of parked cars.

"Let's go," said Ron's voice from his right.

And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away, dropping out of sight as the car rose; in seconds, the whole of Lon- don lay, smoky and glittering, below them.

Then there was a popping noise and the car, Harry, and Ron reappeared.

"Uh-oh," said Ron, jabbing at the Invisibility Booster. "It's faulty —"

"It's all your fault!" accused Harry.

Both of them pummeled it. The car vanished. Then it flickered back again.

"Hold on!" Ron yelled, and he slammed his foot on the accelerator; they shot straight into the low, woolly clouds and everything turned dull and foggy.

"Now what?" said Harry, blinking at the solid mass of cloud pressing in on them from all sides.

"We need to see the train to know what direction to go in, idiot," said Ron.

"Dip back down again — quickly —"

They dropped back beneath the clouds and twisted around in their seats, squinting at the ground.

"I can see it!" Harry yelled. "Right ahead — there!"

The Hogwarts Express was streaking along below them like a scarlet snake.

"Due north," said Ron, checking the compass on the dashboard. "Okay, we'll just have to check on it every half hour or so — hold on —"

And they shot up through the clouds. A minute later, they burst out into a blaze of sunlight.

It was a different world. The wheels of the car skimmed the sea of fluffy cloud, the sky a bright, endless blue under the blinding white sun.

"All we've got to worry about now are airplanes," said Ron, smoking a joint.

They looked at each other and started to laugh; for a long time, Harry couldn't stop. Ron couldn't stop at all. He was extremely high.

It was as though Ron had been plunged into a fabulous dream. This, thought Ron, was surely the only way to travel — past swirls and turrets of rainbow skittles, in a car full of blue snow, with a fat pack of lasagna toads in the glove compartment, and the prospect of seeing Fred's and George's jealous faces when they landed smoothly and spectacularly on the sweeping clouds in front of Burger King.

They made irregular checks on the train as they flew farther and farther north, each dip beneath the clouds showing them a different view. London was soon far behind them, replaced by neat green fields that gave way in turn to wide, purplish moors, a great city alive with cars like multicolored ants, villages with tiny toy churches. However, it looked much different to Ron.

Several uneventful hours later, however, Harry had to admit that some of the fun was wearing off. The lack of women had made them extremely thirsty.. He and Ron had pulled off their sweaters, but Harry's T-shirt was sticking to the back of his seat and his glasses kept sliding down to the end of his sweaty nose. Harry took off his shirt. He had stopped noticing the fantastic cloud shapes now and was thinking longingly of the train miles below, where you could buy warm pumpkin juice from a trolley pushed by a seductive witch. _Why _hadn't they been able to get onto platform nine and three-quarters?

"Can't..._be_ much _further_, can _it_? Muh," drawled Ron, hours later still, as the sun started to sink into their floor of cloud, staining it a deep pink. "Ready for another check on the guinea pig?"

It was still right below them, winding its way past a snowcapped mountain. It was much darker beneath the canopy of clouds.

Ron put his dick on the accelerator and drove them upward again, but as he did so, the engine began to whine like a stupid bitch.

Harry and Ron exchanged annoyed glances.

"The lazy bitch is probably tired," said Ron. "It's never been this far before. . . ."

And they both pretended not to notice the whining growing louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. Stars were blossoming in the blackness. Harry pulled his shirt back on, trying to ignore the way the windshield wipers were now waving attractively, as though trying to tell Harry to take it back off. After a couple minutes of that, Harry decided to just wink at the wipers. The car leaked gas in response to the sexiness of Harry James Potter.

"Not far," said Ron, to the car, "not far now," and he patted the dashboard happily.

When they flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, they had to squint through the darkness for a landmark they knew. They saw the Washington Monument.

"Fuck it, Ron!" Harry shrieked, bitch slapping Ron. "We've flown all the way to America! No wonder it took so many damned hours!"

Ron blushed, and they turned back. The engine acted up, and they had to press the button for the emergency life raft. A large, luxurious life raft popped out the side of the car, and they hopped in it. Harry and Ron rowed all the way to Europe. When they reached the land, they looked at each other nervously. But the life raft had it all figured out. It started floating upwards until it was in the clouds, and zoomed towards Scotland. They looked for familiar landmarks again.

"_There_!" Harry shouted, making Ron and Hedwig jump. "Straight ahead!"

Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake, stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle.

But the raft had begun to shudder and was losing speed.

"Come on," Ron said cajolingly, giving the plastic a little shake, "nearly there, come on —"

The raft groaned. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from under it. Harry found himself gripping the edges of his seat very hard as they flew toward the lake.

The car gave a nasty wobble. Glancing out of his window, Harry saw the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile below. Ron's knuckles were green on the steering wheel. The car wobbled again.

"Come _on, _bitch," Ron muttered.

They were over the lake — the castle was right ahead.

There was a loud clunk, a splutter, and the raft's floating abilities died completely.

"Uh-oh," said Ron, into the silence.

The raft dropped. They were falling, gathering speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall.

"_Weeee-hoooo_!" Ron yelled, enjoying the Disneyland-esque ride; they missed the dark stone wall by inches as the raft turned in a great arc, soaring over the dark greenhouses, then the vegetable patch, and then out over the black lawns, losing altitude all the time.

"MORE! MORE!" he yelled, whacking the sides of his chair, but they were still plummeting, the ground flying up toward them —

"WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!" Harry bellowed.

CRUNCH.

With an earsplitting bang of plastic on wood, they hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing from under the raft; Hedwig was shrieking in anger at Ron's stupidity for putting them in this hell-ride; a golf-ball-sized lump was throbbing on Harry's head where he had hit the windshield; and to his right, Ron let out a low, despairing groan.

"Are you okay?" Harry said urgently.  
"My wand...and the ride's over..." said Ron, in a shaky voice. "Look at my wand —" It had snapped, almost in two (like what happened to the Dick Lord's penis); the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters.

Harry opened his mouth to say he was sure they'd be able to mend it up at the school, but he decided not to lie. At that very moment, something hit his side of the raft with the force of a charging bull, sending him lurching sideways into Ron, just as an equally heavy blow hit Ron's side.

"What's happen — ?"

Ron gasped, staring through the windshield, and Harry looked around just in time to see a branch as thick as a python smash into Ron's face. The tree they had hit was attacking them. Its trunk was bent almost double, and its gnarled boughs were pummeling every inch of the raft it could reach.

"Aaargh!" said Ron as another twisted limb punched a large dent into his chest; his life was now trembling under a hail of blows from knuckle-like twigs and a branch as thick as a battering ram was pounding furiously on the roof, which seemed to be caving —

"Run for it!" Ron shouted, pushing his weight off the raft, but in the next second he had been knocked backward into Harry's lap by a vicious uppercut from another branch.

"Hey there, Harry," he moaned as the raft floor sagged, but suddenly the floor was vibrating — its flotation abilities had restarted.

"_Reverse_!" Harry yelled, and the car shot backward; the tree was still trying to hit them; they could hear its roots creaking as it almost ripped itself up, lashing out at them as they sped out of reach.

"That," panted Ron, "was close. Well done, raft —"

The raft, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two sharp clunks, the raft floor pushed upwards and Harry felt his seat tip sideways: Next thing he knew he was sprawled on the damp ground. Loud thuds told him that the raft was ejecting their luggage from the floor compartments; Hedwig's cage flew through the air and burst open; she rose out of it with an angry screech and sped off toward the castle without a backward look. Then, dented, scratched, and leaking, the raft rumbled off into the darkness.

"Come back!" Ron yelled after it, brandishing his broken wand. "Dad'll skin me!"

But the car disappeared from view with one last snort from its exhaust.

"Can you _believe _that bitch?" said Ron miserably, stepping on Scabbers. "And of all the trees we could've hit, we had to get one that hits back."

He glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tree, which was still flailing its branches threateningly.

"Come on," said Harry wearily, "we'd better get up to the school. . . ."

It wasn't at all the triumphant arrival they had pictured. Stiff, cold, and bruised, they seized the ends of their trunks and began dragging them up the grassy slope, toward the great oak front doors.

"I think the feast's already started," said Ron, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window. "Hey — Harry — come and look — it's the Sorting!"

Harry hurried over and, together, he and Ron peered in at the Great Hall.

Innumerable candles were hovering in midair over four long, crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle. Overhead, the bewitched ceiling, which always mirrored the sky outside, sparkled with stars.

Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, Harry saw a long line of scared-looking first years filing into the Hall. Ginny was among them, easily visible because of her her peg legs and arm (from the multiple amputations). Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, a bespectacled witch with a small black backless dress, was placing the famous Hogwarts Sorting Bra on a stool before the newcomers.

Every year, this aged old bra, patched, frayed, and dirty, sorted new students into the four Hogwarts houses. Harry well remembered putting it on, exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for its decision as it muttered aloud in his ear, its mouth on the right bra strap. For a few horrible seconds he had feared that the bra was going to put him in Slytherin, the House that had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other — but he had ended up in Gryffindor, along with Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys. Last term, Harry and Ron had helped Gryffindor win the House Championship, beating Slytherin for the first time in seven years.

A very small, mousy-haired boy had been called forward to place the bra on his chest. Harry's eyes wandered past him to where Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, laid, surrounded by Beauxbatons alumni, watching the Sorting from the staff table, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses shining seductively in the candlelight. Several seats along, Harry saw Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in boxers of aquamarine. And there at the end was Hagrid, huge and hairy, drinking deeply from his goblet.

"Hang on . . ." Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table. . . . Where's Snape?"

Professor Severus Snape was Harry's least favorite teacher. Harry also happened to be Snape's _favorite_ student. Hipster-wannabe, effervescent, and disliked by everybody except the students from his own House, Snape taught Potions.

"Maybe he's dead!" said Ron hopefully.

"Maybe he's _left,_" said Harry, "because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job _again_!"

"Or he might have been _gang banged_!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him —"

"Or maybe," said a very bubbly voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you two hoes didn't arrive on the school train. I mean, like, I've been waiting all day to see you, mah bros!"

Harry spun around. There, his non-mainstream rainbow fedora with extra long and floppy brims rippling in a cold breeze, stood Severus Snape. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose, black Buddy Holly hipster glasses, and greasy, shoulder-length black hair, and at this moment, he was grinning lopsidedly in a way that told Harry he and Ron were being courted for their friendship. Snape didn't really care about gaining Ron's friendship, but since Ron's constant following was tolerated by Harry and Hermione, Snape might as well try to join the trio by infiltrating the mind of the least popular.

"Follow me," purred Snape, smiling.

Not daring even to look at each other, Harry and Ron followed Snape up the steps into the vast, echoing entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches. A delicious smell of food was wafting from the Great Hall, but Snape led them away from the mainstream warmth and light, down a narrow stone staircase that led into the dungeons.

"In," he said, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and pointing.

They entered Snape's office, shivering. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars, in which floated all manner of revolting things Harry didn't really want to know the name of at the moment. Snape was really into non-mainstream vintage potion ingredients. The fireplace was dark and empty. Snape closed the door and turned to look at them.

"So," he said softly, "the train is too mainstream for the famous Harry Potter and his faithful sidekick, Weasley. Wanted to arrive with a _bang, _did we, boys?"

"No, sir, it was the barrier at King's Cross, it —"

"Silence!" said Snape warmly. "That was awesome! But what did you do with the car?"

Ron gulped. This wasn't the first time Snape had given Harry the impression of being able to read minds. Snape unrolled today's issue of the _Evening Prophet._

"You were seen," he informed, showing them the headline: _FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES. _He began to read aloud: "Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw a shitty old car flying over the Post Office tower . . . at noon in Norfolk, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while masturbating in a hidden alley. . . Mr. Angus Fleet, of Peebles, reported to police . . . Six or seven Muggles in all. I believe _your _father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?" he said, looking up at Ron and smiling still more. "I'm impressed with your willingness to go against the crowd and do your own thing, Mr. Weasley!"

Harry feared that Arthur would get in trouble for what he and Ron had done. He didn't really care about Krystaliqua; she was a clingy bitch. "I noticed, in my search of the park, that considerable damage seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow," Snape went on.

"That tree did more damage to _us _than we did to it," Ron said.

"_Silence_!" snapped Snape again. Despite trying desperately to be a hipster, Snape's permanent PMS monster sometimes showed through. Ron's freckly face often got on Snape's nerves. "Most unfortunately, Ron, you are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who _do _have that happy power. You will wait here. And Harry, feel free to leave."

Ron stared at Harry, white-faced. Harry felt even hungrier, now that he wasn't stressed out about being expelled. Ron was nothing to Harry. "I'm going to leave, now, Ron. Good luck, mate." He smirked, walking towards the door.

"Fuck you, Harry," Ron muttered. Unexpectedly, Ron whipped out his broken wand and tried to Petrificus Totalus his former best friend. The spell came out as Crucio but hit Scabbers instead. Harry's mouth dropped as he saw Scabbers get tortured for an hour. After Scabbers's pain ceased, they guffawed. Harry walked back, impressed by Ron's merciless. He decided to be friends with him again.

Ten minutes after the end of Scabbers's torture, Snape returned, and sure enough it was Professor McGonagall who accompanied him. Harry relaxed. He had seen Professor McGonagall naked on many desperate occasions, trying to seduce him. Luckily, he had pity fucked her a few times, so Minnie became much less bitter. In fact, if Harry told her to jump, she would ask, "How high?".

She raised her wand the moment she entered; Ron flinched, but she merely pointed it at Harry, whose clothes suddenly disappeared.

"Sit," she said, and they both backed into chairs by the fire. "Explain," she said to Ron, her eyes focused on Harry's crotch.  
Ron launched into the story, starting with the barrier at the station refusing to let them through.  
"— so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't get on the train."  
"Why didn't you send us a letter by owl? I believe _you _have an owl?" Professor McGonagall said coldly to Harry, disappointed with his lack of resourcefulness.  
Harry gaped at her. "I did suggest that, Minnie! Ron refused to listen!"  
"Harry, you dipshit!"  
"That," said Professor McGonagall, "is understandable." Harry winked at her to make her forget about Ron's mistake, because he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be helping his friend. "Oh, Harry, you're such a sweetheart." Minerva licked her lips.  
There was a knock on the office door and Snape, now looking happier than ever, opened it. There stood the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.

Harry's whole body went numb. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. He stared down his very crooked nose at Ron.

There was a long silence. Then Dumbledore said, "Please explain why you did this."

Ron told Dumbledore everything except that his father owned the bewitched car, making it sound as though he and Harry had happened to find a flying car parked outside the station. He knew Dumbledore would see through this at once, but Dumbledore asked no questions about the car. When Ron had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles.

"We'll go and get our stuff," said Ron in a hopeless sort of voice.

"What are you talking about, Weasley?" barked Professor McGonagall.

"Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?" said Ron.

"No," McGonagall said. "Just you, Ron."  
Harry looked quickly at Dumbledore. Dumbledore nodded. He basically went along with anything McGonagall said. Secretly, though, Albus was in love with Madame Pomphrey - he just pretended to be in love with Minerva to avert any suspicion.

Harry knew he only needed to change Minnie's mind about Ron. "Wait!" Harry shouted. McGonagall was already staring at him. "Minnie..." he started. She smiled expectantly. "Do you mind giving us a bit of privacy?" he asked Dumbledore, Snape, and Ron. They left the room.

"Yes, Harry?" McGonagall said.

"I've been thinking..." Harry continued, placing a hand on her thigh. "If you expel Ron, Hermione's going to hate me forever. Even though she's a complete slut, she's extremely compassionate about her friends. If Hermione hates me forever, I'll never get to fuck her again. If you're the cause of me not getting the fucks of my life, I'm never going to fuck you again. In fact, I'm never even going to second base with you again. Or first base."

McGonagall gulped and promptly changed her mind. "Did I expel Ron? Psh. You must've misunderstood me! I was joking!" She called the rest into the room, and told them her verdict.

"But, Dumbledore, are you still going to expel me?" Ron inquired.

"Not today, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "But I must impress upon you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to your family tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you."

Snape looked as though Christmas had been canceled. He cleared his throat and said, "Professor Dumbledore, Ronald Weasley has flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree — surely acts of this nature —"

"It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on Weasley's punishments, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "They are in her House and are therefore her responsibility." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "I must go back to the feast, Minerva, I've got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, there's a delicious-looking cunt tart I want to sample —"

Snape shot a look of pure jealousy at Ron as he allowed himself to be swept out of his office.

"You'd better get along to the hospital wing, Weasley, you're bleeding," McGonagall advised.

"Not much," said Ron, hastily wiping the cut over his eye with his sleeve. "Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted —"

"The Sorting Ceremony is over," said Professor McGonagall. "Your sister is also in Gryffindor."

"Fuck it all to hell," said Ron.

"Speaking of Gryffindor, I will not take away any points," she informed, and Harry's heart lightened considerably. "But Ron will get a detention."

It was better than Harry had expected. He knew his efforts to keep Ron in school would result in at least two pity fucks with Minerva, which he hated. McGonagall may have been pretty when she was younger, but now she was just a wrinkly mess. Now Ron would get punishment for making Harry have sex with their Transfiguration professor.

Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at Snape's desk. A large plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets, and a jug of iced pumpkin juice appeared with a pop.

"You will eat in here and then go straight up to your dormitory," she said. "I must also return to the feast." She winked at Harry, mouthing 'tonight, 3 am'.

When the door had closed behind her, Harry groaned and Ron let out a long, low whistle.

"I thought I'd had it," he said, grabbing a sandwich.  
"Well, now I have to fuck the Professor," said Harry, taking one, too.  
"Can you believe our luck, though?" said Ron thickly through a mouthful of chicken and ham. "Fred and George must've flown that car five or six times and no Muggle ever saw _them._" He swallowed and took another huge bite. "_Why _couldn't we get through the barrier?"

Harry shrugged. "We'll have to watch our step from now on, though," he said, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. "Wish we could've gone up to the feast. . . . This food tastes like _shit_."

When they had eaten as many sandwiches as they could (the plate kept refilling itself which annoyed Ron so much that he tried to Crucio it, but the spells became Geminio, duplicating each sandwich that he tried to torture), they rose and left the office, treading the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower. The castle was quiet; it seemed that the feast was over. They walked past muttering portraits and creaking suits of armor, and climbed narrow flights of stone stairs, until at last they reached the passage where the secret entrance to Gryffindor Tower was hidden, behind an oil painting of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said as they approached. "Er —" said Harry.

They didn't know the new year's password, not having met a Gryffindor prefect yet, but help came almost immediately; they heard hurrying feet behind them and turned to see Hermione dashing toward them.

"_There _you are! Where have you _been_? The most _ridiculous _ru- mors — someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying _car _—"

"Well, we haven't been expelled," Harry assured her.

"You're not telling me you _did _fly here?" said Hermione, sounding almost as severe as Professor McGonagall.

"Skip the lecture," said Ron impatiently, "and tell us the new password."

"It's 'molesting alligators,'" said Hermione impatiently, "but that's not the point —"

Her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the fat lady swung open and there was a sudden storm of clapping. It looked as though the whole of Gryffindor House was still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for them to arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron inside, leaving Hermione to scramble in after them.

"Why are you naked, Harry?" someone asked.

"Oh," Harry mumbled, looking down. "Oops."

"Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be talking about that one for years —"

"Shut up, Jordan," Harry snapped.

"It's because I'm black, isn't it, you fucking racist white trash!"

"Good for you," said a fifth year Harry had never spoken to; someone was patting him on the back as though he'd just won a marathon; Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said together, "Why couldn't we've come in the car, eh?"

"Oh, and Harry- I sold like 7,000 copies on the train of that sex tape with you and that lady in our kitchen," Fred added.

Harry wasn't upset. "Remember to split the profits with me tomorrow!"

Ron was scarlet in the face, grinning, but Harry could see one person who didn't look happy at all. Percy was visible over the heads of some excited first years, and he seemed to be trying to get near enough to start beating them up. Harry stabbed Ron in the ribs and nodded in Percy's direction. Ron got the point at once.

"Got to get upstairs — bit tired," he said, and the two of them started punching their way toward the door on the other side of the room, which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories.

"'Night," Harry called back to Hermione, who had gotten over the incident and smiled sweetly back at Harry.

They managed to get to the other side of the common room, still having their backs slapped, and gained the peace of the staircase. They hurried up it, right to the top, and at last reached the door of their old dormitory, which now had a sign on it saying second years. They entered the familiar, circular room, with its five four-posters hung with red velvet and its high, narrow windows. Their trunks had been brought up for them and stood at the ends of their beds.

Ron grinned guiltily at Harry.  
"I know I shouldn't've enjoyed that or anything, but —"  
The dormitory door flew open and in came the other second year Gryffindor boys, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom.

"_Unbelievable_!" beamed Seamus. "Cool," said Dean.  
"Sexy," said Neville, awestruck. Harry smirked smugly, putting on his black Calvin Klein boxers.


	6. Gilderoy Lockhart

**Chapter Six: Gilderoy Lockhart**

The next day Harry grinned many times. Things started to go uphill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long House tables were laden with tureens of diarrhea, plates of shit, mountains of cervical mucus, and dishes of eggs and semen, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy gray). Harry and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione, who had her copy of _Viagra with Vampires _propped open against a jug of breast milk. Neville Longbottom greeted them cheerfully. Neville was a round-faced and accident-prone fat ass with the worst memory of anyone Harry had ever met.

"Mail's due any minute — I think Gran's sending a few things I forgot."

Harry had only just started his porridge when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a million or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the screaming crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head, cracking his skull, and, a second later, something large and gray fell onto Hermione's jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.

"_Errol_!" said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.

"I thought I deep fried you!" Ron gasped.

Hermione prodded Errol gently with the tip of her finger. "I'm sure he's not _too_ dangerous. Hedwig couldn't be killed the first time, but the second time she just came back stronger. But I don't think Errol's improved as much as Hedwig."

"It's not that — it's _that._"

Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to Harry, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.  
"She's sent me a Howler," said Ron happily.  
"You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville in a timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and" — he gulped — "it was horrible. It hurt so much...but at the same time...I liked it..."

Harry looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope. "What's a Howler?" he said.  
But Ron's whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.  
"Open it," Neville urged. "It'll all be over in a few minutes —" Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Er-

rol's beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, Harry knew why. He thought for a moment it _had _exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

**_"— STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D RAPED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE —_****"**

Mrs. Weasley's yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

**"****_— LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, YOUR FATHER DIED OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED —_****"**

Harry had been wondering when his name was going to crop up. He tried very hard to look as though he couldn't hear the voice that was making his eardrums throb.

**"****_— ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER'S CORPSE IS BEING BURIED, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE I'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME AND VICIOUSLY KILL YOU._****"**

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. Everyone laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.

Hermione closed _Viagra with Vampires _and looked down at the top of Ron's head.

"Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you —"

"Don't tell me I deserved it," snapped Ron.

"You deserved it," Hermione continued, but her smooth-talking charismatic allure was too much for Ron to be more angry than he was lustful.  
Harry pushed his diarrhea away. His insides were burning with delight. Mr. Weasley was dead. Maybe he could pursue his relationship with Krystaliqua . . .

But he had no time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall was crawling along the Gryffindor table, handing out course schedules, using her teeth. She was in a rather ecstatic mood from last night's rendezvous with a certain Mr. Potter. Harry took his, disgusted by Minnie, and saw that they had quadruple Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together (with Hermione periodically stroking Ron), crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept. Hermione thought Ron getting in trouble was badass, so she focused her attentions on the soulless twelve-year-old. Harry and Hermione were 18-year-olds in disguise, so them having copious amounts of sex was totally acceptable. Fucking tweens like Ron, though, held some legal questionability.

As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class kneeling outside as a human centipede, waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout's arms were full of bandages, and with another twinge of delight, Harry spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings.

Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and her fingernails would have made Aunt Petunia shit her pants. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.

"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at the assembled students. "Just been showing Pomona the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm not better at Herbology than she is! Because I am, first and foremost, a genius of Herbology, praised more than any in the entire universe."

"Greenhouse three today, bitches!" said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self. "Now, let's skip the bullshitting here. Herbology is just a cover-up to look good for prospective parents. By second year, we trust y'all are interested enough to keep quiet about this to your parents, so we stop with the Herbology, which I am much more proficient at than Lockhart. This here class is Sexology, the study of sex, if that weren't damned self-explanatory enough."

There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before — who knew what was in greenhouse three. Were there even plants at all? Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. Aside from the plants, there were shelves of kinky sex toys and bookshelves full with everything you could ever know about sex. He was about to follow Ron and Hermione inside when Lockhart's hand shot out, groping his crotch discretely. Harry slapped Lockhart's hand away.

"Harry! I've been wanting a word — you don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

Judging by Professor Sprout's string of expletives, she did mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket," and closed the greenhouse door on her face.

"Harry," said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry."

Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing.

"When I heard — well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself."

Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He was about to say so when Lockhart went on, "Don't know when I've been more shocked. Flying a car and a raft to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, _Harry._"

It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn't talking.

"Gave you a taste for variety, didn't I?" said Lockhart. "Gave you the _bug. _The _love_ bug. For _me_."

"Oh, no, Lockhart, see I'm strai—"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping his waist. "_I understand_. Natural to want a bit more once you've had that first taste — and I blame myself for giving you that, because it was bound to go to your sponge of a brain— but see here, young man, you can't start _flying cars _to try and get yourself gay cred. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you're older. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's all right for him, he's so damned good at being homosexual!' But when I was twelve, I was confused. In fact, I'd say I was even more confused than you! I didn't have any gay cred, y'know, fame around the homosexual community. I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with the Dick Lord." He glanced at the penis scar on Harry's forehead. "I know, I know — it's not quite as good as winning _Wizard Weekly's _Most Charming Smile Award five times in a row, as I have — but it's a _start, _Harry, it's a _start. And I can help you._"

He gave Harry a wink, his fingers hovering over Harry's neck, and strode off. Harry stood stunned for a few seconds, then, remembering he was supposed to be in the greenhouse, he opened the door and slid inside.

Professor Sprout was humping a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse, demonstrating xylophilia. About twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were lying on the bench, beckoning Harry with a siren call. Harry had fabric fetishism. When Harry had taken his place on Hermione, Sprout said, "We'll be fucking Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was first into the air.

"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," said Hermione, sounding as usual as though she was extremely intimate with the textbook. "It is used to return people who have been transfigured, cursed, or pregnant to their original state. It's a best friend to those who cheat sexually."

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Professor Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up again.

"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said promptly. "Which makes fucking it very hard for someone without proper equipment."

"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young and virgins, so be gentle."

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to Harry, who didn't have the slightest idea what Hermione meant by the "cry" of the Mandrake.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that was pink and fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are _completely _covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right — earmuffs _on._"

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Harry let out a gasp of surprise that everyone could hear.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. She made out with the Mandrake, licking it softly as she climbed onto the table. She laid back and pulled the Mandrake out again, fucking it. After five minutes, Professor Sprout achieved climax and buried the Mandrake back into the compost. Then she killed it with a hand grenade for her own pleasure. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, they _will _knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back being raped by a Mandrake, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

"Four to a tray — there is a large supply of pots here — compost in the sacks over there — and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's horny."

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy Harry knew by sight but had never spoken to. He had very large feet.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand. "Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter. . . . And you're Hermione Granger — always top in everything. I heard you're very difficult to give an orgasm, but you're always making guys climax repeatedly with ten second intervals. "

(Hermione beamed as she had her chest groped inappropriately) "— and Ron Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car and raft?"

Ron didn't smile. The Howler was obviously still on his mind.

"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" said Justin happily as they began filling their plant pots with dragon dung compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if I'd been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and wanked with it— just _fantastic._

"My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was furious, but since I made her read Lockhart's books I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family. . . ."

After that they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth, but didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot after forcing himself into her. Hermione ended up in a menage a trois with Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was still trying to fuck his Mandrake.

By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. Everything Harry had learned last year seemed to have leaked out of his head during the summer. He was supposed to be turning a beetle into a dildo, but all he managed to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desktop avoiding his wand.

Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed cervical mucus, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick gray smoke that smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased.

Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt like a wrung sponge. Everyone filed out of the classroom except him and Ron, who was whipping his wand furiously on the desk.

"Shitty — useless — thing —"

"Write home for another one," Harry suggested as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.

"Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back," said Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag. " '_It's your own fault your wand got snapped _—' "

They went down to lunch, where Ron's mood was not improved by Hermione's showing them the handful of perfect vibrating dildos she had produced in Transfiguration.

"What've we got this afternoon?" said Harry, hastily changing the subject.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.

"_Why,_" demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little stickmen only doing it doggy style and orally?"

"I thought you didn't like doggy style that much, Hermione," Harry said.

Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously. Ron had the sense that Hermione knew something that she wasn't telling them.

They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast court- yard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in _Viagra with Vampires _again. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for several minutes before Harry became aware that he was being stalked. Looking up, he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he'd seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night drooling at Harry as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like a bottle of ordinary Muggle lubricant and a Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.

"All right, Harry? I'm — I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think — would it be all right if — can I have a nude picture?" he said, raising the camera and lubricant hopefully.

"A nude picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a deformed dick scar on your forehead" (his eyes raked Harry's hairline) "and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll _move. _And if I perform a spell, the pictures will perform sexual acts according to my fantasies!" Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "It's _amazing _here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a prostitute, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you" — he looked imploringly at Harry — "maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

"_Signed photos_? You're giving out _signed photos, _Potter?"

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregina Goyle.

"Everyone line up!" Malfoy informed the crowd cheerfully with genuine sincerety. "Harry Potter's giving out signed nude photos!"

"Yea, I am. You got a problem with that?" said Harry angrily, shattering Malfoy's jaw with one half-hearted punch. "Get bent, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.

"_Jealous_?" mumbled Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore: Half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a dick scar right across my head, thanks. That's like what schizophrenics imagine - dicks in place of a forehead and shit like that. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself."

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering intelligently.

"Eat balls, Malfoy," said Ron angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

"Be careful, Weasley," cautioned Malfoy, with true concern for Ron's familial relationships. "You don't want to start any trouble or your mother will have to come and take you away from school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice. "_If you put another toe out of line _—"

A knot of Slytherin fifth years nearby booed loudly at this.

"Weasley would like a signed nude photo, Potter," smirked Malfoy. "It'd be worth more than his family's whole house —"

Ron whipped out his cervical mucus-ed wand, but Hermione shut _Viagra with Vampires _with a snap and whispered, "Look out!"

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giving out signed nude photos?" He seemed very excited.

Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!"

Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with humiliation for being seen with Lockhart, Harry saw Malfoy slide frowning back into the crowd. Malfoy truly sympathized with Harry.

"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at Colin. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll _both _sign it for you."

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes. Lockhart pulled up his briefs, Harry his boxers, and the two put the rest of their clothes on.

"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with Harry, who was wishing he knew the Killing Curse, still clasped to his side.

"A word to the wise, Harry," said Lockhart paternally as they entered the building through a side door. "I covered up for you back there with young Creevey — if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so much. . . ."

Deaf to Harry's insults, Lockhart swept him down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase.

"Let me just say that handing out signed nude pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible — looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but" — he gave a little chortle — "I don't think you're quite there yet."

"Bullshit. I'm not even gay," Harry protested.

They had reached Lockhart's classroom and he let Harry go at last. Harry yanked his robes straight and headed for a seat at the very back of the class, where he busied himself with piling all seven of Lockhart's books in front of him, so that he could avoid looking at the real thing. He was absolutely disgusted with the turquoise-clad abomination.

The rest of the class came clattering in, and Ron and Hermione sat down on either side of Harry, though Hermione was more on him than by him.

"You could've fried an egg on your face," said Ron. "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."

"What the fuck," snapped Harry. "I'd be totally for a Harry Potter fan club. It would show that Lockhart!"

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of _Travels on Trolls, _and held it up to show his own, winking nude portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of _Wizard Weekly's _Most-Charming-Smile Award — but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling _at her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.

"Haha, no, in fact, I got rid of her by fucking her! I see you've all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Something to worry about — just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in —"

When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes — start — _now_!"

Harry looked down at his paper and read:

_What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color_?

_What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition_?

_What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's_ _greatest achievement to date?_

_What is Gilderoy Lockhart's sexual orientation?  
_On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

_54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be_?

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut — hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in _Year in the Yeti. _And a few of you need to read _Wanking with Werewolves _more carefully — I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be a Muggle-wizard orgy — though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of lubricant!"

He gave them another roguish wink. Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and grimaced when he mentioned her name.

". . . but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of HIV — good girl! In fact" — he flipped her paper over — "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione flipped him off.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor!" He suddenly became extremely serious, almost seething with rage. "And more than half of you said my sexual orientation was homosexual. No! No! I'm straight! I'm fucking straight! Straight, straight, straight!" he whined.

Harry countered, "But-"

"Shut up!" Lockhart yelled. "Shut the _fuck_ up!"

Furious at his mistreatment, Harry stood up and glared at the DADA professor. "Listen now, Gilderoy, and listen closely," he warned. "I'm more famous than you could ever be, and I've fucked more people than you ever could. So when you speak to me like that, you'd better expect some repercussions."

Lockhart gulped. "And so — to business —"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now — be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

In spite of himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front row seat.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "_Freshly caught Cornish pixies._"

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not — they're not very — _dangerous, _are they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about one inch high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and fucking around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Ha," Seamus snorted. "You dick is probably as long as they are tall."

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and penetrated them. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They filled spray bottle with their semen and sprayed the class with it, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed win- dow; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

"Come on now — round them up, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, "_Peskipiksi Pesternomi_!"

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way and died from the impact.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were almost at the door, and said, "Well, I'll ask you three to just kill the rest of them." He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.

"Can you _believe _him?" roared Ron as one of the remaining pixies pushed its 2 cm dick into his ear.

"I know, right?" said Hermione, killing two pixies at once with a clever Burning Charm.

"I think he's gay. He keeps trying to hit on me," said Harry, who was trying to kill a pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out. "Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he was doing —"

"Yea," said Hermione. "And I _know_ he's gay. I knew it from the start. I bought gay-dar on eBay."

"Nice," Ron muttered. "Did you try it on me?"

"Yea," Hermione said. She exchanged uncomfortable glances with Harry.


End file.
